


(Airship) Pirates!

by eledhwenlin



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-15
Updated: 2011-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-20 11:09:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 55,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eledhwenlin/pseuds/eledhwenlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon/Spencer steampunk AU. When Brendon is accidentally kidnapped by the dreaded airship pirate Saporta, it's up to Spencer to bring Brendon home safe. He learns just how stupidly big his country is, and that perhaps patience and stamina are more important than he thought, while Brendon has to figure out what he wants and how far he's willing to go for it.</p><p>Will Spencer ever manage to find and rescue Brendon? Are the terrifying stories about Saporta's basement true? Only time will tell!</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Airship) Pirates!

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank yous go to who was an incredible help in plotting and who cheerled me all the way from the first word until the very end. She let me willingly spam her with daily progess e-mails and always had a word for me when I needed someone. Also thank you for the great beta! audited the rough draft and provided valuable comments and made me believe that this was indeed fit for public consumptions. Last, but not least, for the beta -- the story is better for all your comments. You are all rockstars. <3
> 
> My Twitter feed was the most helpful in calming me down and providing hugs when I needed them. Thank y'all for listening.
> 
> This story was written for Bandom Big Bang and comes with bonus content which can be found [here](http://eledhwenlin.livejournal.com/659940.html)

Brendon carefully picked up the worm gear and slid it into place amongst its fellows. It fit, settling in with a quiet click. And when he advanced the governor by hand, the entire driving mechanism moved smoothly, the cogs meshing with each other perfectly. But Brendon wouldn't know whether Mrs Gilton's music box still worked until he had completely reassembled it. The musical drum was still in good order, though, so he had good reason to hope that he'd managed to fix Mrs Gilton's musical box. He knew that the box had been a present from her late husband, and she had been heartbroken when she had to bring the box to them for repair.

After thoroughly cleaning every stray bit of dirt and grease off the remaining parts, Brendon began putting the musical box back together, piece by piece. Its age was apparent, and the small number engraved on the original case Mrs Gilton had brought it to them in only confirmed Brendon's own assumption. It said _1861_. Fifty years, he thought, fifty years and still working right up until last week when a cog had broken off one of the gears.

Brendon felt almost reverent, as he put the drum back into its place and connected the sound valves to it. He turned it with his thumb, testing the sound each valve produced. Priest Thompson had said that the only holy music was Church music, that all other kinds were blasphemy. Brendon's father had said the same thing, when Brendon had asked Mr Hoppes if he needed an apprentice.

But Brendon still felt just as sure now, almost ten years later, as he had then: if music made him feel like this, delighted and carefree, how could it be bad? Mrs Gilton had found comfort in this little musical box after her husband's death, letting it serve as a reminder of him. Brendon cherished each instrument that found its way to his workbench, and rejoiced outright on the few occasions when an order for a completely new instrument was put in. No, he thought, these things couldn't be bad--and he couldn't help but be glad he'd apprenticed in a fine clocksmithy--not when his work brought him such great joy.

His parents had asked him to reconsider, to at least ask Mr Wilson for a place in his clocksmithy, learning to fix kitchen appliances and tools. But Brendon had known that choosing that line of work would have made him even less happy than learning to repair the new modes of transportation, interesting as they were, would have done. Of course, every time an airship crossed over the town, Brendon still wondered whether he shouldn't have become a mechanic. But working on an airship was hard and dirty work, and the nearest port was in Las Vegas. Not to mention the fact that Brendon's parents wouldn't ever have allowed him to leave Summerlin at such a young age. So he had been left to choose amongst the other crafts Summerlin had to offer.

The workshop clock tolled the hour, ringing out six smooth, dark tones, one for each hour. Brendon continued sitting at his workbench and putting the musical box back together. He hoped to return it to Mrs Gilton tomorrow morning when Mr. Hoppes sent him out to run errands. She was a poor widow and could hardly afford the money to pay for the repairs, however small the bill might be. Brendon had no one to care for but himself, still a bachelor at the age of soon to be 24, and he could afford to take care of her bill. He didn't mind having a little bit less money to spend at the next market than usually.

When Brendon was done, he put the box through its paces to make sure his repair would hold. He didn't recognise the tune it played, but it reminded him of the music he had heard last summer when he had cajoled Ryan, Spencer and Jon into accompanying him to the big fair held just outside of Vegas. There had been all sorts of unfamiliar music there, too, a loud cacophony of different sounds, different songs, and Brendon hadn't wanted to ever stop listening to one piece or another of it. The others had finally made him leave close to dusk and Brendon hadn't stopped thinking about that music for months. He dearly hoped to return to the fair this year.

For now there was nothing for Brendon to do but put the music box back into its case and set his workbench to rights, then scrub his hands, removing the oily residue that seemed to cling to every cog and screw and sprocket - and, finally, carefully hang his work apron on its hook and put on his coat. As he slid his arms into the sleeves, he noticed how worn it gotten and, thought that he would have to ask Kara to patch the elbows again for him. His mother would just scold him for not taking care of his things, if he asked her, but Kara always smiled at him when he asked her for favours. "We must get you a wife," she sometimes joked. Brendon usually ducked his head and looked away.

Mr Hoppes had already closed up the shop, so Brendon left through the backdoor. It led into Mr Hoppes' house, and the hall was permeated by the smell of stew. Brendon could hear children laughing. That must mean, Eudora, Mr Hoppes' eldest daughter, was visiting. Her sister Carolyn's children were still too small to be tearing about like that. Brendon decided not to disturb their family dinner just to announce he was going home and ducked quickly out of the house.

Outside, the air was cold. Although spring was near and the days were already warm and balmy, as soon as dusk fell, so did the temperature. Brendon was glad for his coat.

The little alley next to the clocksmithy was empty, but when Brendon stepped out of it onto the main street, he found the sidewalks still bustling with people going about their business. He glanced at Mr Wilson's clocksmithy, a few doors down the block on the other side of the street, and sighed. The shop was already dark. Brendon told himself there was no reason to be disappointed that he would be walking home by himself tonight. Spencer often worked late hours, as Mr Wilson's shop was busy enough that he could afford two full journeymen as well as two apprentices and still have work to spare. Sometimes, when Brendon left work on time, he dropped by Mr Wilson's shop, chatting idly with Spencer, keeping him company while he finished the day's tasks, passing the time until they could both leave. But there was no reason that he couldn't walk home by himself.

It was just that Brendon liked having someone to talk to, who would listen to his stories about his work and his customers - and understand. Brendon's parents never quite had the time to listen to him babble about sprockets; Spencer understood why Brendon was excited to have fixed the saloon's upright piano or why an order for a new instrument meant so much more than just something extra in that month's pay envelope. Today, it seemed, Brendon would have to make do without conversation. Spencer was nowhere to be seen.

But Brendon had only put a few yards between the shop and himself when he was brought up short by hearing his name called.

Spencer was walking toward him, carrying a package under his arm. He smiled and tipped his hat at Brendon. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Good evening, Spencer," Brendon laughed. "I thought you had already left."

"No," Spencer said, "I had to pick up some fabric for my mother. Did you work late?"

"Yes. Yes, I did," Brendon said. He felt restless, all his excitement at having fixed Mrs Gilton's musical box bubbling up again. "Mrs Gilton, do you remember? Her husband died a few years ago. He gave her this musical box, years ago, and just recently it stopped working - a cog had broken off one of the gears. But I fixed it." Brendon beamed at Spencer. "I fixed it."

Spencer grinned. "You're lucky I've known you for so many years," he said, "or else I wouldn't have been able to make head nor tail out of that." He paused before asking: "So was it a Georgetown or a Boston box? A Pittsburgh doesn't have any gears with cogs."

"Boston," Brendon replied. "With the drum, you know."

"I do," Spencer said. "You've been fascinated by them since school."

Brendon blushed, remembering the first time their teacher had showed them a musical box. He'd made a fool of himself, falling all over himself trying to get a chance to touch the box and figure out how it worked.

But Spencer was smiling at him and bumping his shoulder, saying, "It's nice to see that some things never change," with a wink.

Brendon just laughed in reply - nothing he could think of to say seemed right. He didn't feel at all like the awkward, lonely boy he had been at fourteen. School had been a miserable affair for him and he had been sad when his parents had decided to keep him there for the full course. He had never thirsted for knowledge, unless it was to do with music or clocksmithery, but he'd understood what they'd meant by the gesture. Most of his siblings had already been put to work or married by that time, so they hadn't had to depend on Brendon earning his keep and could afford to offer him the luxury of further schooling. That hadn't made the experience any more comfortable, but Brendon hadn't ever felt able to say that he'd rather have left school early to work in the fields. At least the barley wouldn't have teased him.

"Here's my street," Spencer said, coming to a stop in the middle of the road. They'd walked nearly all the way home without Brendon realising it. Their way led them right along the road to the old forest that was located east of Summerlin. The forest usually occupied part of Brendon's attention as it offered accompaniment to their journey in the form of the soft sounds of leaves rustling in the wind. But today he had been too caught up in explaining in detail to Spencer what he'd done to the musical box. The short walk to Brendon's house three streets further on, came nearly as a surprise.

"Oh," Brendon said.

Spencer laughed. "Make sure you go to bed early tonight," he said. "You're losing your wit."

Brendon stuck out his tongue, quickly. "At least I have wit to lose," he said, nose held high. But maintaining the haughty facade was a lost cause from the start and he quickly, dissolved into giggles.

"A low blow, my sir," Spencer said. "I bid you a good evening, Brendon."

"Good evening, Spencer," Brendon replied and stood watching Spencer walking down his street for as long as he dared. Recently his heart had taken to beating faster when Spencer smiled at him or laughed at Brendon's antics. But it wasn't just his heart which reacted in noticeable ways.

Brendon wasn't naive. He knew what it was that made his palms sweaty when Spencer walked close to him, that made his hands itch to touch Spencer, and that made his knees weak when Spencer laughed from his belly, deep guffaws that sent shivers through Brendon's body. He also knew what his parents' opinion on the matter would be: they would never let him court another man, let alone marry him; the book wouldn't let them. It was too bad, Brendon thought, that the book did not allow for a long courting phase. Courting often lasted only a month, if even that. Until he'd been thirteen, Brendon had thought that courting and marriage were the same thing--nobody he knew had ever not married the girl they were courting. It had been a shock when his teacher stopped courting the grocer's daughter and instead courted the sheriff's daughter. Brendon had realised then that his church had strict rules concerning courting. Once you'd chosen someone, you had chosen them forever. After all, his mother had explained to him, God wouldn't steer him wrong.

"Marriage should be fertile," Brendon's father always said. A pair of young men had gotten married in Summerlin a few years ago. Neither of them had belonged to Brendon's family's church, but the town was still small enough that everyone knew each other. The priests had delivered heated sermons arguing against such a futile union. The couple had moved soon after getting married, leaving Summerlin for Las Vegas.

That had been one of the first occasions when Brendon had doubted the authority of the book. The young men had clearly been happy with each other, and the law did after all acknowledge their union, but more than this even, there had been everyone else's reactions. The couple had been married in a church, by a priest of a different denomination, but by a priest nonetheless: how could one book say such a thing was forbidden, while another celebrated it?

Brendon himself had never fancied a girl. Not in the way Ryan fancied Elizabeth or Jon loved Cassie, at least. He'd never found himself stumbling or stuttering while trying to talk to them. Instead Brendon blushed when the heat drove Sean, who helped the Urie family at harvest time, to take off his shirt . He ducked his head when Spencer showed the slightest sliver of skin. But he could not act on his feelings. nor could he choose who he really wanted to be with - no matter how hard he wished for it to be otherwise.

Idle thoughts, Brendon scolded himself. He was late for dinner, and here he was standing in front of his parents' house considering things he could and would never have. Even though unions had gained wide acceptance and begun to occur more and more often, the stance of the Church of Latter Day Saints was clear. Brendon would not be able to marry man in his Church. Which was just as well, because Spencer probably didn't even want to marry Brendon. Their friendship could be considered a suitable approximation of courting--Spencer knew so much about Brendon that if Brendon possessed any character traits Spencer would consider a bar to marriage, well, Spencer surely already knew about them. And there was probably something, the way Brendon always found himself being scolded for his many flaws.

When Brendon opened the door, he was greeted by the smells of the food his mother had prepared for dinner. "Mother, I'm home," he called, while he took off his coat. The house was quiet, which meant that none of his siblings were home. This was a rare event. Mason and his wife lived in the side-building, and although they had their own kitchen, they often came over for dinner. But when Brendon entered the dining room, the room was empty and the table was only set for three.

"You're late," his mother chided him, when he looked into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry," Brendon replied, "but I had to finish an order."

His mother sighed. "Please call your father. He's outside."

Brendon's father was contemplating the rain pipe. "We'll have to fix that soon," he said, and Brendon nodded. Brendon didn't know anything about houses and construction, but his father was usually right. The house was old and had recently begun requiring more and more repairs.

Dinner was a quiet affair. It made Brendon's skin itch. The silence was oppressive and only served to emphasised by the fact that it was just Brendon and his parents tonight. His father was sitting stiffly in his chair, posture rigid. It made Brendon nervous. Normally his father relaxed during dinner, his hard features softening, his voice soft as he recounted the day's events. It was unusual for him to carry so much tension at this time of day that Brendon involuntarily picked up on it. He sat up straight in his chair, holding himself at attention, and waited for whatever was to come.

Nothing happened until after dinner, though. Brendon helped his mother clean up the table and the kitchen and settled in the living room with his parents, just as always. Then his father suddenly cleared his throat and Brendon looked up from the book he was reading, borrowed from Ryan, and found both his parents looking at him. He straightened his shoulders and tried not to worry.

"Brendon, we need to talk," his father said.

"We're worried," his mother added. She did look anxious, but Brendon wondered what had given her cause to concern.

He went with the most probable choice and said, "You shouldn't be. Business might be slow, but Mr Hoppes said that it'll pick up again." He smiled reassuringly at them, but when they exchanged a look, his smile fell.

"That isn't what causes us grief," his father said. "Brendon, you're going to turn twenty-four next month."

"Yes?" Brendon said. He didn't think that his birthday was really that special.

"Don't you think it's time to get married?"

"Pardon me?" Brendon blinked.

"All your brothers and sisters were already married by your age," his mother pointed out. "Mason was twenty-three, but even he had been courting Alyssa for several years. Because she had to take care of her father until her sister was old enough to take over her role, we didn't mind the long and unusual courting period. But we're worried about you."

His father nodded. "You haven't courted, and you show no interest in doing so."

Brendon looked down at the floor. He didn't know how to explain his feelings in a way that wouldn't shock his parents. He didn't want to marry. Of his friends only Jon was already married. They didn't think that being still unmarried at the young age of twenty-four was unusual. Indeed, Spencer's father had once said that he'd much prefer Spencer to carefully choose his partner than hurry into marriage with just anyone.

"Victoria Cooper is still looking for a husband," his mother said cheerfully. "You know she likes you."

Brendon did and made sure to avoid her at any social gatherings. She had often hinted that if he wanted to court, she would be quite disposed to agreeing. It had given Ryan much cause to amusement, the way Brendon basically hid whenever she attempted to approach him.

Brendon opened his mouth without thinking. "But what if I don't want to marry?" He gripped his book tightly, using it as an anchor.

His mother looked crestfallen, his father angry. "Would you really wish to be alone for all eternity?" she asked, voice filled with anguish. "Surely you would not consider such a thing."

Brendon tried to reply, but his father cut him off. "Of course, you want to marry," he said. "A bachelor's life is just as reprehensible as those sinful infertile unions. I won't have one of my sons choosing such a lifestyle."

"I don't think there's anything shameful about a bachelor's life," Brendon said, stubbornly. "And I don't even like Victoria."

"Dear son," his father said, "a bachelor lives his life alone, without a family, only concerned with his own existence. There is nothing good about such a life. You know what the book says."

Brendon bit his lip. One of the many things the book said that Brendon didn't agree with was that a life, just as marriage, should be fertile. It meant that Brendon's sole purpose in life, aside from spreading the faith of the Church, was to sire children. Brendon felt that life should have many more purposes besides those. "But-" Brendon was interrupted by his father.

"Your mother and I have already decided to give you one month."

"A month? For what?"

His mother spoke softly. "You have until your birthday to decide who you want to court. We cannot wait any longer if you are to marry this summer."

"Victoria's mother speaks of her in the highest tones," she added, "so you should reconsider your stance. There aren't many girls of your age left to consider and most of the younger ones already have suitors."

Brendon felt sick, his stomach churning inside his belly. "But, mother," he said, "I wish you wouldn't force me to." He was holding the book so tightly now that his knuckles were white. He hoped he wasn't crinkling the pages--Ryan wouldn't forgive him if Brendon damaged it.

His father looked at him with hard, cold eyes. "It is decided, Brendon. It's time for you to marry and have your own household. Your mother and I are no longer willing to support you in your idle lifestyle."

Brendon hardly saw anything idle about labouring for ten hours in Mr Hoppes' shop every day and helping his parents to take care of the old house. "But," he tried again, "don't you think-"

"Enough, Brendon!" his father yelled. "I've had enough of this talk. I don't understand why this seems to be such an issue for you. You will be married by the end of the summer."

"But I don't want to!" Brendon spoke fast, gesturing wildly with his book. "I will not choose the person I'll spend the rest of my life with based on some stupid ultimatum!"

"Brendon!" his mother chastised him. "Watch your tone."

Brendon's father had already stood up. "I won't have such disobedience in my own home! Do not forget that I'm your father. You will do as I say or you will have to leave."

Brendon threw his book on the table and got up. "Then I will leave," he said fiercely. "I won't let you force me into something I don't want."

"I know," his father said darkly. "Didn't we let you study to be a clocksmith and not even a regular one? Wasn't that concession enough?"

Brendon opened his mouth, but his father kept talking. "In this matter, however, dear son, you will obey us. You will get married and it will happen this summer."

"You can't make me," Brendon said. He sounded like a five year old, but he didn't care. He could see Victoria in his mind, her broad smile and high giggle, and he remembered Spencer's casual touches, his arm thrown around Brendon's shoulder, his body heat seeping through the thin layers of fabric between them. There was no question who he desired.

"I will," his father said. "This is not up for discussion anymore."

"That we will have to see," Brendon said before grabbing his coat.

"Where are you going at this late hour?" his mother demanded to know.

"Away from here," Brendon replied shortly. The door fell closed behind him with a satisfying clunk and Brendon stomped off along the street. Dusk was falling and gaslights were flaring to life inside houses. Most people were sitting at their dinner tables right now. Brendon stood in the street, his anger faded away with the sunlight, feeling, for the first time in his life, entirely alone. He had nowhere to go ... except there was one place. He turned resolutely around and walked back toward the city center.

~~~***~~~

Spencer was sitting outside, enjoying a pipe. Inside his mother bustled around, fiddling with the fabric he'd brought home, while the twins excitedly discussed what could and should be made out of it. The sounds of their conversation carried through the half-open screen door and provided a familiar background to his ruminations. He was so lost in his thoughts that he startled when he suddenly heard steps. But then it was only Brendon coming around the corner of the house.

Spencer raised an eyebrow at Brendon and gave him a pointed look. "What are you doing here? It's late."

When Brendon came closer, Spencer saw that he was frowning, his lips pressed tightly together. "What happened?" Spencer added.

"My parents," Brendon started, his voice dark and forceful, "my parents, they ..." Brendon gestured wildly before sinking down on the stones next to Spencer.

"Brendon?" he asked. He got up, worried.

"My parents insist that I get married, Spencer," Brendon said. He sounded thoroughly upset. "They want me to be married by the end of the summer."

"Oh," Spencer said. He blinked, completely taken by surprise. His mind was blank, and he found himself searching futilely for an appropriate answer. "And you don't want to?"

"No," Brendon said, his voice breaking in the middle of the vowel. "No, I don't."

He leaned against Spencer, and Spencer didn't think twice about putting his arm around Brendon's shoulder, giving him the physical comfort he needed. Brendon sighed and he put his head on Spencer's shoulders. Spencer could feel Brendon's breath against his neck, gusting against the sensitive skin right above his collar. He suppressed a shudder and told his body to behave--Brendon was here to be comforted. Spencer needed to keep his own feelings in check.

Spencer often envied Brendon for the way he demanded and collected hugs and the like. Propriety never meant much to him, whereas Spencer tended to be self-contained and overly proper. Brendon had begun to breathe more calmly now, but he still didn't move away.

It felt comfortable and cozy. Spencer tried not to think of it. Then he wondered why Brendon's parents had sprung this on him now--Spencer's mother had told Spencer that there was quite a bit of talk in the village about the Urie's unmarried youngest son, but most of it seemed indulgent. Brendon's oldest brother was more than ten years his senior. There was no need for Brendon to marry at all and Spencer had become convinced that Brendon would stay alone and take care of his parents rather than get a family of his own, although that was rather unusual for a Latter Day Saint.

"They might change their mind," Spencer heard himself saying. His own voice sounded like a stranger's to him. He could feel as much as hear Brendon snort.

"Spencer, they're not leaving me a choice," Brendon said. "They say I must either marry or I must leave." He paused, before adding quietly and broken. "Can you imagine that?"

"They must have good reasons for it," Spencer ventured. He startled when Brendon shook off his arm and sprang up, pacing back and forth along the garden path.

"That's exactly it, Spencer--they don't! They just say I'm old enough and therefore I must, just because the Book says ..." Brendon kicked a stone. It banged noisily against the paving stones.

"The Book says that there should only be fertile unions." Brendon's voice was quiet, hushed, like he'd rather not be talking. "To go to heaven, you must be fertile. It's the most stupid and senseless command, but they believe it."

Spencer swallowed heavily. So many things about Brendon's faith were strange to him. In school there had always been a clear distinction between the Latter Day Saints and the people of other, more secular faiths. Brendon and Spencer had only become friends in clocksmith school. Then Spencer had learned more about the Latter Day Saints, but he still knew only what Brendon had told him--though once Brendon had brought the book in and had shown him different chapters. Ryan thought Spencer's curiosity was morbid, but then Ryan read gruesome poetry about bodies without heads. Thankfully, Ryan hadn't pointed out that Spencer's interest had spiked when Brendon became a closer and closer friend.

But all Spencer's knowledge didn't help him--he knew how important being married was to those of Brendon's faith. The Latter Day Saints were a community of their own, and while Brendon had provided minimal information, he had been much more interested in learning about Spencer's church. It had startled them both to realise how different their beliefs were.

"Perhaps it won't be as bad as you think?" Brendon whirled around, facing Spencer. He was frowning, his posture tight.

"Not as bad? Spencer, they're forcing me. I can't imagine anything worse."

"You might be surprised," Spencer said. He tried to keep his voice steady--and had moderate success. "Once you have started courting your," the word tasted like ash, "your future wife, it will be-"

"God, no, not you, too," Brendon shouted. "You're supposed to be my friend."

"I'm your friend, Brendon, it's just that maybe you don't see-" Spencer sighed, exasperated. "It's part of your faith. You've told me that not being married might actually prevent you from going to heaven." Spencer thought that idea was nonsense.

"Spencer, you can't claim to be my friend and then try to convince me that my parents are right. You're supposed to be on my side." Brendon stood in front of Spencer, arms crossed in front of him and feet planted. He looked fierce, standing there scowling, and Spencer's heart missed a beat. In that moment he didn't want to do anything more than pull Brendon into his arms and tell him that everything would be all right. He didn't, though, and he forced himself to breathe calmly.

"I'm not saying they're right," Spencer said, "but I think you're upset and overwhelmed, because this is a big decision."

"Yes, yes, I am upset," Brendon said. "I'm upset because everyone seems to think this is a good idea."

Spencer thought about the way Brendon's clothes always needed mending and how he ate too little or forgot his lunch at home. He thought that Brendon needed someone to take care of him a little bit. He could see how Brendon's parents could want Brendon to choose someone who would be able to do that--they couldn't support him forever. Spencer couldn't help but be in sympathy with the sentiment, even though the thought of someone else taking care of Brendon made his heart ache. But this wasn't about Spencer's happiness, it was about Brendon's. "Perhaps we think so because it is."

Brendon jerked away. "What do you mean?" His voice sounded rough and low, but Spencer didn't pay that any heed. He pointed at Brendon's shirt, where the topmost button had sprung off.

"You would forget your head if it wasn't attached," Spencer said softly, hoping to defuse the situation. See, you can't even dress yourself." His gentle tone was lost on Brendon, though.

"What?!" Brendon looked aghast. "One damn button I haven't had the time to sew back on is reason enough for you to decide I need a wife?"

"Brendon," Spencer said, trying to calm him down, but Brendon was shaking his head.

"No, I'm not having any more of this. You're just as bad as them."

Brendon turned around and strode down the garden path toward the edge of Spencer's family's property.

"Brendon, where are you going?" Spencer called after him. It was only a short way to the forest and dusk was falling. If Brendon ended up in the forest, he would get lost. Brendon had no sense of direction whatsoever.

"Away," was Brendon's short answer. "Leave me alone."

"But the forest-"

"Leave me alone!"

And then Brendon jumped over the low fence, bypassing the gate that led back to the road, and walked away, shoulders hunched up. Spencer physically ached. He didn't even want Brendon to marry. But if Spencer couldn't get what he wanted, then he at least wanted Brendon to be happy and well taken care of. Even if it meant that Brendon was hurt and angry at Spencer now. Spencer just wanted the best for him.

"Spencer?"

Spencer turned at his mother's voice. She stood on the patio, looking at him with unreadable eyes. "Was that Brendon?"

"Yes, mother, it was," Spencer replied. "He's going home now."

His mother gave him another contemplative look. She stepped back towards the house. "You should come inside soon," she said. "It's getting cold."

"I will," Spencer said and threw one last look at the forest. The distance made it difficult to tell for sure, but Spencer thought he couldn't make out a lithe, small figure. He hoped Brendon had really gone home. Then he shook himself and forced himself to go back inside. Hopefully Brendon would calm down by morning and Spencer would have a chance to explain on their way to work.

~~~***~~~

Brendon was fuming. He had gone to Spencer for comfort, and he hadn't expected Spencer to side with Brendon's parents. He tried to ignore how hollow his chest felt when he recalled Spencer saying _your wife_. Spencer didn't share Brendon's faith, but even though he was much more progressive, he didn't think that Brendon would rather choose a husband. He thought that Brendon would only do what his faith allowed him to.

And here was Brendon, longing to feel Spencer's arms wrapped around him. Stupid, he called himself, how could you have been so blind?

The unexpectedly loud crack of a twig beneath his foot brought him back to reality. Only then did he take note of his surroundings. He had just intended to take a shortcut, doubling back behind the row of gardens and bypassing the main streets. It was a favorite of his, both because it allowed him to stay at Spencer's longer, since it saved him a good ten minutes on his way home, but also because it was something Brendon had found by himself. He had once taken Ryan with him, but Ryan had pronounced the path too uncomfortable to walk it often. The shortcut was Brendon's and Brendon's alone.

Brendon couldn't say how many times he'd chosen that path in the last nine years. Normally he was very good at navigating the forest, but now he found himself in the thick of it, a good way away from his usual path. Brendon sighed. Now he had to turn back and hope he hadn't taken any turns during his wanderings. He couldn't remember, he'd been too caught up in his misery and anger.

Half an hour later, Brendon had to admit to himself that he was truly lost. He couldn't figure out where he was exactly--none of his surroundings were familiar. Daylight was slowly fading. There was just enough left for now that Brendon could see well enough to avoid stumbling into trees and ditches, but soon it would be pitch dark.

Brendon was wondering whether he should try doubling back and again the risk getting himself more lost when he noticed a small light in the distance. He started off into the direction of it. He didn't think he'd been lost long enough that people would be looking for him already, but he might have been. Brendon wasn't very good at keeping track of time. A glimmer of hope flared up, when he thought of another possibility. Maybe his parents had realised that they had demanded something impossible. Maybe they were trying to find him. Maybe they were trying to find him. But even if the light belonged to a stranger, they would surely know their way around the forest and not think it too much of a bother to guide Brendon back to the outskirts of the woods.

He started off into the direction of it, moving more and more quickly as the daylight faded and the warmth of the day seeped away with it. Brendon couldn't help but shiver with only his thin shirt to keep him warm, and he chided himself for taking off without his coat--but how could he have known that he would find himself stumbling around in the forest later on?

Brendon sighed in relief when the light grew so bright that it was clear he had nearly reached its source.. Then there was a clearing - which Brendon found himself almost falling into due to tripping over a big root. But he caught himself and tried to play it down.

"Hi!" he said cheerfully, when five people turned to face him. They were all tall - and dressed kind of gaudily, all bright, clashing colours. "I'm sorry," he added, "to bother you, but-", and was that, yes, that was an airship parked on the clearing, "I got lost," Brendon finished weakly, when he caught sight of the flag hanging limply from the rafter. It was black with white patches. Brendon could make out a bone and part of a skull.

His smile slipped from his face, just as he realised he'd managed to stumble across airship pirates.

"Oh, what do we have here?" the tallest guy said. He ambled over and Brendon wondered for a moment whether his pants were intended to be this tight or whether they just hadn't had enough fabric.

"Um," Brendon said, and he tried to shrink away when the guy stopped right in front of him. The guy's height forced Brendon to look up and made him feel uncomfortable. He tried to take a step backward, but immediately collided with someone else. He ran right into their chest and looked up, instinctively, to find himself staring at a man almost as tall as the guy in front of him. Brendon swallowed heavily.

"Don't they teach you to speak here?" the possibly colour-blind guy said, but then one of his cronies interrupted him.

"Gabe," the pirate said, and Brendon realised with a start that it was a woman, "we don't have time for that." She glanced at Brendon, but looked away quickly, like Brendon wasn't worth her attention. Brendon felt small and worthless. Then the name of the guy sunk in and Brendon couldn't suppress a scared whimper. _Gabe_ , she'd said, which meant that Brendon had landed himself in the hands of Gabe Saporta, the cruellest airship pirate of them all, who never left behind survivors on his scavenging trips. Brendon was as good as dead.

"There's always time for some nice little chit-chat," Gabe replied, waving his hand flamboyantly. "We must, after all, make nice with the locals."

The woman rolled her eyes. "Until they find us and have us arrested."

"Hush," Gabe said, and he turned back to Brendon. His smile was manic, too wide and broad to be really believable, and Brendon shrank back against the tall guy behind him. The guy grabbed Brendon's wrists, tugging Brendon against himself. Brendon startled and tried to move away, but in that moment Gabe leaned in, much too closely for Brendon's liking, crowding Brendon. He grabbed Brendon's sleeve, shaking him a little. "So, my dear pocket-sized boy, what's your name?"

Brendon's throat was way too dry to speak, so he just shook his head.

"Oh, you don't have a name?" Gabe examined Brendon closely. He swayed a little, and his hand was still tight around Brendon's arm. "I shall name you then. What about Balthazar?"

Brendon blinked. "Brendon," he managed, "please let me go," added in a rush of breath.

"And end our nice conversation?" Gabe looked upset. He tugged Brendon toward him. Since the other guy didn't let him go, Brendon felt the rope in a tug war between two dogs. "But we were just getting to know each other!"

Brendon wondered what sort of strange pirates they were, more concerned about having a conversation than the possibility of being discovered.

"Gabe," the woman insisted, "we need to leave now before it's completely dark or we won't be able to see well enough anymore to work the machines."

"But we're just getting started!" Gabe said.

There was a noise far-off in the forest, a twig cracking. None of the pirates paid any heed to it. Brendon looked around cautiously. It was getting dark fast and it was becoming difficult to distinguish trees and other figures, but Brendon thought that he had recognised the shape of a person. And he even had an idea who it might be--he would recognise that shuffling walk anywhere. Only Jon walked like he could care less when and where he would arrive. Brendon didn't understand his love for late night walks in the woods, but right now he felt relieved.

Brendon felt conflicted. He wanted to start shouting and jumping up and down, alerting Jon to his predicament, but he didn't want to risk Jon being taken captive, too.

There was another sound and this time the pirates stirred.

"Gabe," said the shortest of the pirates, "it's time."

"I see," Gabe said, "then let's go." He was also staring into the distance, but Brendon thought he hadn't seen Jon yet.

Brendon felt his heartbeat speed up, and he held his breath. So far no one had made a move to kill him, so maybe Brendon was lucky and he would emerge as the first survivor of Gabe Saporta. Maybe they would leave him here and Jon would bring Brendon home and tomorrow Brendon would apologise to Spencer and his parents and everything would be okay.

But then Gabe said, "take him to the brig," and the guy who'd been holding Brendon picked him up and threw him over his shoulder.

"Oof," Brendon said as the move knocked all the air out of his lungs. By the time Brendon had regained his senses he was already onboard the ship. "Let me go," he pleaded, but the guy who was carrying Brendon shook his head.

"It's better this way, little one," he said. "At least that's what all the other ones said."

Brendon really doubted that. He'd heard all sorts of stories about Saporta--he was said to be the most cruel and most heartless of all pirates. It was commonly accepted that he tortured his captives, just for fun. Brendon didn't want to be tortured. He wanted to be home, in his bed, safe and secure, far away from this horrible place

The upside of being carried this way was that it gave Brendon an opportunity to look around without it seeming strange. He saw a movement behind one of the trees and, yes, that was Jon's bag, the one he always carried when he went walking in the forest. Brendon figured he could go for broke now, since they had almost reached the ship.

"Help!" Brendon yelled. "Help, I'm being-"

The woman unceremoniously clamped her hand over Brendon's mouth. "It's no use," she said, "we're in the middle of the forest, no one's around to hear you." She smiled, not ungently. "Listen to Ryland," she said. "It won't be as bad as you think." She added a little mocking bow. "Welcome onboard the Cobra."

Brendon shuddered, but he couldn't retort anything, since the woman hadn't moved her hand. And then they were on the ship and the point was moot. Brendon just hoped that Jon had recognised him and grasped the unfortunate situation Brendon had gotten himself into.

A door opened ahead of them, its hinges creaking, and then Brendon was put into a small room without windows. He sprawled on the floor, surprised by being suddenly set down.

"Stay here," the guy, Ryland, said. He closed the door and Brendon sat still on the floor, trying to get this breath back. He hadn't heard a key turn in the lock, but his ears were rushing. And then there was a sudden jolt. Brendon realised with a heavy heart that they must have taken off and were now flying away from Summerlin.

Brendon was onboard of a pirate ship filled with bloodthirsty, weird pirates, he didn't know where they were going or what they intended to do with him. He didn't know how long it would take Jon to get back to the village--Brendon figured he'd walked for about half an hour after he left Spencer's, judging by how dusk had been falling. That would make it at least one hour until Jon returned to the clearing, even if he could immediately get help and find the place again. By then the ship would be far away. Brendon stared at the door. There was no hope.

~~~***~~~

Spencer's father had just locked up the front door when someone started banging on it.

"Who's there?" his father called out, voice steady. Spencer stood in the hall, waiting. It was past dark, and visits at this hour usually brought bad news. Spencer had just said good night to his parents and was about to go to bed--his sisters were already asleep. His mother came downstairs again in her morning robe. She was frowning.

"It's me, Jon," came the answer. Spencer's father quickly unlocked the door. Jon was dishevelled, his boots muddied, and he was leaning against the door frame, face red with exertion. Spencer felt fear pool in his stomach. He'd never seen Jon quite like this.

"It's Brendon," Jon said, forcing the words out between huge gulps of air. "I saw him in the forest and-" Jon's voice failed, but he kept gesturing.

"Come in, come in," Spencer's father said, "here, sit down, calm down-"

"No, we can't," Jon said. "Spence--Brendon was taken by airship pirates."

"Airship pirates?" Spencer and his father echoed.

Jon nodded weakly. "Yes, I could see the flag."

"And you didn't run?" Spencer asked. What he really wanted to know was: why weren't you taken, too?

"I hid because there was a commotion and I wanted to see what was going on. I mean, I know these woods, I could've lost them easily. But then I saw Brendon and I tried to get closer-"

"How did you expect to save him from airship pirates?" Spencer's mother threw in. "They would have taken you, too."

"I don't know," Jon said in a small voice, "but I couldn't just leave him there, right?"

"But then something must have happened," Spencer said slowly. "Because you're still here and Brendon isn't."

Jon shook his head. "I don't know what happened, but suddenly they went onboard their ship and took off. I realised I couldn't help Brendon any and I ran back as fast as I could."

"Wait, what, you came directly here?" Spencer's father's voice was stern and steady. Spencer would have yelled, if he could have produced any sound. Jon should've gone to the sheriff immediately.

"No," Jon said, "I met Mr Robertson and he alerted the sheriff. Then I ran to Brendon's parents. After that I came here."

"What are they going to do?" Spencer asked. "Where do we start looking?"

Jon looked hesitantly. "I don't know. The sheriff didn't say anything. I think they're going to decide tomorrow."

"Tomorrow!" Spencer felt sick. "But by tomorrow they could several hundred miles away."

"I know." Jon looked as pale as Spencer felt. "We'll have to wait."

"And stay here," Spencer's mother said. She put her hand on Spencer's arm. "You won't be any help to Brendon or the search party, if you rush out now and start looking in the dark."

"But Brendon's parents--perhaps they need help raising the people for the search party."

His mother squeezed his arm gently. "They won't," she said. "The sheriff will take care of it, and you know that there's a number of men he can draw upon."

"I really think I should--"

"Spencer." His father's voice was stern. "You should go to bed, so you'll be well-rested tomorrow. There's nothing for you to do right here and right now."

"I see," Spencer replied, but he felt that rushing out and running after the pirates while they still stood a chance of catching up with them was the best choice of action. But he still let his father bid good bye to Jon and his mother steered Spencer up to his room.

"Go to sleep, Spencer," his mother said gently. "You will need to be rested tomorrow."

Spencer went through the motions, disrobing and washing up, but when he laid down, he felt high-strung and restless. _Brendon_ , he thought. He didn't sleep much that night, too worried and agonised. If he hadn't fought with Brendon, hadn't driven him out to the woods ... he knew it was pointless to count the what-ifs, but he still couldn't help but feeling like this was his fault.

The next morning dawned bright and beautiful and Spencer felt irrationally angry at the sun. His friend was missing, taken by no-good bandits, so shouldn't the weather reflect the sad state of affairs? But as Spencer made his way to the courthouse, the sun continued to shine brightly, quickly warming the spring air. Morning was well at hand and the search party would have to leave soon if they were to have even a slight chance of success.

But then Spencer found himself standing outside alone but for Jon and Ryan. He watched Brendon's parents leave the court house and gave them a nod in passing.

"What's going on?" he asked Ryan.

Ryan looked like he'd swallowed a toad. "There is no search party," he spit out.

"But why?" Spencer was baffled.

"They don't want one," Jon said. He looked pale and slightly shocked. "They said they didn't want anyone wasting their precious time and that the sheriff should just put out a search warrant and -"

"If God was willing, he'd return Brendon to them." Ryan's face was bright red. "That's what they said, Spence. If God was willing, he'd let them have their son back. Spencer. They said, they worded it like, like this was a chance for Brendon to learn."

Spencer felt sick. "They can't do that," he whispered. "They can't."

"Unfortunately," the sheriff interrupted them, "they can."

Spencer said, "But we can't just leave him in the bandits' hands!"

"My men will be looking for him,"  the sheriff said. "So if they just rob him and leave him somewhere, we'll find him."

"And what do you expect us to do? Sit tight and wait until our friend miraculously reappears?"

"That would be the best approach," the sheriff said and then he turned and left. Spencer looked at Jon and Ryan.

"We can't," Spencer repeated.

Jon shifted uneasily. "I described the ship," he said, "and it looks like it's Saporta."

"Oh god," Spencer whispered. They'd all heard the stories, of men and women being disappearing, never to be seen again. Some rumours said that Saporta had a special chamber where he entertained himself with his prey. Some were convinced that Saporta had certain ... proclivities. Spencer couldn't let that happen to Brendon. Good-natured, slightly naive and adorable Brendon who had been as pure as the driven snow when they had become friends. Spencer could still remember the lanky boy with the shy smile who'd blushed at every mention of fornication. Ryan had made fun of Brendon at the time, but soon they all had stopped saying too outrageous things around Brendon.

"We can't let that happen," Spencer said again, this time his voice sure and firm. "We have to look for him ourselves."

"Saporta's base is in Barstow," Ryan said.

"How do you know?" Jon asked. Ryan shrugged.

"I looked at the sheriff's files while he was inside his office discussing the matter with Brendon's parents."

"Barstow," Spencer said. "That's what, a five day walk?" He wished his parents hadn't sold his grandparents' old carriage. But they weren't merchants and had no need for travelling. His grandfather had used it for his business, but Spencer's parents didn't have the place for a horse of their own.

Spencer cursed inwardly their miserable location--any merchants who did own carriages were travelling to Las Vegas, just opposite to where they needed to go. Nobody would let them borrow their carriage, either, not if there wasn't a search party. The carriages were too precious to be given away with levity.

"At least," Ryan said.

"I can't see why they'd wait to rob him until they got to Barstow," Spencer said. "I bet they'll have flown just far enough away to be safe from us, but they probably ... gotten rid of him soon afterwards. Perhaps he's just a day's walk away, but unable to get home because he's been hurt!"

"That sounds plausible," Ryan said slowly.

"Ryan," Spencer said and he was uncomfortably aware of the pleading tone he was using, "Brendon's our friend. We can't just leave him there."

"I see," Ryan said. He looked down. Spencer knew what was going through his head. Ryan was happy working for Mr Johnson. His life hadn't ever been easy, at least until his father had died about five years ago--a terrible thing to say, but so true that even Spencer's mother agreed. The elder Mr Ross had drunk away what little money he earned, and Ryan had often sought refuge at Spencer's parents' house. They could always offer him a warm meal and a bed. It had taken several years for the old wounds to heal, but these days Ryan could walk with his head held up high. Just recently he'd started to court a young milliner who worked for Mrs Simmons, right next to Mr Johnson's tailor's shop. It was a match made in heaven.

"I need to ask Mr Johnson," Ryan added hesitantly.

Spencer nodded and said, "And I need to talk to Mr Wilson." Jon nodded his agreement. "Back here in one hour?"

"If we're free to go," Ryan said, "then we'll be here."

Spencer hurried to the clocksmithy where he found Mr Wilson in the back room. He looked up when Spencer approached. "I heard about the young Urie," he said. He seemed sad. He was one of the multitude of people who liked Brendon, enjoyed his lively nature and good-natured chatter. Spencer hoped that it would make his request easier--although he had already decided that he would go no matter what. He was not going to leave Brendon in the hand of ruthless airship pirates.

"I would like a few days off," Spencer said, "to search for him."

Mr Wilson frowned. "But I thought there wasn't going to be no search party?"

This is it, Spencer thought. This is where you have to lie. "There is one," he said. "We'll be leaving soon, if we can get permission to do so."

"You have mine," Mr Wilson said. "And godspeed, young man! These airships are fast and they fly high."

"Thank you," Spencer said hastily. "Thank you for your understanding."

Mr Wilson nodded. "Then leave now," he said. "You mustn't lose any time. As you know they never found the little Morris boy."

Spencer bowed his head. He remembered that search too well. The boy had gone lost in the woods, and soon the blame had fallen on the gypsies that had just passed through town. They couldn't find hide nor hair of the boy, though. Afterwards there had been a town meeting--some people had spoken out against the search parties. Useless, they had called them, a waste of time and an irrational endeavour. No one had ever caught an airship on foot. In the end, the priest had brought the best argument for keeping the parties: they had no other means for pursuit, and stopping searching entirely was removing any kindling hope people might have. Spencer pushed it out of his mind--he had to believe that he stood a chance of finding Brendon. If not ... He didn't want to think about that.

Spencer's heart was still beating furiously, when he arrived back home. "We're going to look for Brendon," he told his mother, leaving out the part where they weren't an actual official search party. He hoped the news wouldn't filter back too soon to Mr Wilson. His mother helped him pack supplies. Spencer sent a quick prayer of thanks heavenwards that at least they wouldn't have to carry water because the channels along the road would provide them with enough water. Spencer hoped Brendon had already found his way back to a road yet--the channels only ran with the main roads and without water he wouldn't survive long in the desert.

"It's just a few days," he told her. "Most likely they won't wait long to dispose of him, he can't be far."

"I hope you'll find him quickly," his mother said. "He must be quite terrified."

"I know," Spencer said and he tried not to think of what would happen if they came back without Brendon or, even worse, with his corpse. He didn't dare think about either scenario in great detail.

Spencer kissed his mother good bye and said, "I hope we won't be too long."

"Take care," his mother replied.

"I will."

Ryan and Jon were already waiting at the court house. Spencer sighed relieved when he saw that they were both carrying bags of their own.

"We have one week," Ryan said, not bothering with niceties. "I must be back in one week, or I'll be out of a job."

"Same here," Jon said. He worked at the local grocery. "I also don't want to leave Cassie on her own for too long." Cassie was pregnant with their first child and both of them were understandably excited.

"Then let's go," Ryan said. "The earlier we start, the earlier we can be back."

Spencer nodded. "We'll take the main road," he said. "When Brendon's set free, he'll have to look for the channels. It's only a few miles until the desert begins, he won't be able to last long without water."

Ryan snorted. "You assume that Brendon has enough common sense to look for water. Or to find the road."

"Ryan," Spencer said sharply. _Don't speak like that,_ he thought. "We mustn't lose any more time," he said instead. If Brendon wasn't on the main road, Spencer didn't know where else to look.

And so they started toward Barstow.

~~~***~~~

Brendon woke up cold and with a kink in his neck. He was still in the small closet, although by now the thin light of the early morning had begun to filter in through cracks in the door. Brendon stretched and startled when he banged into a bucket. The noise died down quickly, but Brendon's heart kept beating overly quickly.

They hadn't killed him yet, although they'd had more than enough time and ample opportunities to do so. While it was unexpected, Brendon couldn't suppress his relief at still being alive. Slowly his heartbeat calmed down.

It was quiet and it seemed to Brendon that they weren't moving anymore. He listened at the door, but the hallway remained quiet. He leaned against the door, hand on the knob, straining to listen more closely, when the knob turned under his weight. Brendon expected the lock to catch, but instead the door swung open and Brendon sprawled out into the hallway. He caught himself on his hands and knees, his "ow!" more the result of his surprise than being caused by actual pain.

The sun was shining in through the windows and Brendon's eyes had to suggest to the sudden brightness.

"Oh, look, I had completely forgotten about you," someone said from above him. Brendon turned his head and followed up long legs up to where they were joined to a long torso and above that a long face. It was the guy who'd carried Brendon onto the airship and he looked honestly baffled. "Well, I suppose I could just take you into the kitchen."

Brendon paled, but the guy grabbed his arm and dragged Brendon upward. He didn't tow Brendon behind him, but Brendon followed him nevertheless. He was too scared to try and see what would happen if he defied them. He thought, so this is what it all comes down to. In the end nothing remained of his day dreams of imagined bravery.

The kitchen was apparently on the other side on the ship. On the way, they crossed a common room, where the two other guys were sound asleep. The woman and Saporta were nowhere to be seen.

The kitchen was huge, much bigger than Brendon would have expected to find on such a small ship, and it smelled heavenly. Brendon recognised the contents of one pot as oatmeal--by far not his favourite, but despite his mortal fear he still felt hungry.

"What time is it?" Brendon dared to ask.

"Oh, early," the guy answered. Brendon blinked. This wasn't quite the answered he had expected. He looked around, but he couldn't see any clocks around.

"Oh," Brendon repeated. "Have we been flying all this time?"

The guy gave him a strange look. "Of course," he said. "Why would we stop?"

Brendon felt slightly sick, his hunger forgotten. If they had really flown all night, by now they would be far away from Summerlin. Brendon tried to remember how fast airships could fly, but he couldn't be sure--he thought that maybe the smaller ones could be faster. Still, he was many, many miles away from everyone he knew.

The guy pushed a bowl of oatmeal into Brendon's hands. "Here, eat," he said, "you're looking pretty pale there." He dropped a slightly bent spoon into Brendon's oatmeal.

Brendon stared dumbfounded at the bowl in his hand. Then he looked up at the guy (he thought he knew his name, but couldn't remember) and said: "But aren't you going to kill me? Why still feed me?"

The guy started laughing loudly. Brendon was torn between feeling amused himself and completely horrified. That was no way to answer his question.

"What's going on?" The woman stumbled in, glaring at them both. "What's this racket?"

"He thought we were going to kill him!" The guy was still laughing, smacking his thigh repeatedly.

The woman snorted. "That's just propaganda," she told Brendon dryly, "we don't kill people."

Brendon felt completely off-balance. Why did they take him? It didn't make sense because Brendon had never heard of anyone actually returning after being captured by the airship pirates, with or without ransom. "My parents don't have any money," Brendon ventured. They mostly heard about these things from travelling merchants and many of the stories include a ransom.

They ignored him, though. "Oatmeal again?" the woman asked sceptically after peering into the pot.

"You can eat whatever once we reach base, Victoria," the guy said, "but for now this will have to do because we're out of anything else."

The woman, _Victoria_ , sighed, but took a bowl of oatmeal anyway.

Brendon started to eat the oatmeal, just to have something to do. He had no idea what was going on, but since they didn't seem intent on doing anything with him soon, he thought it prudent to keep his strength up.

"Ryland!" The other tall pirate came in. "We're ready to land, come to the cockpit with me."

"Stay here," Victoria told Brendon and then the pirates all left. Brendon thought these were the weirdest pirates he'd ever met. Of course, they were also the first pirates he'd ever met, but he'd figured that pirates were usually more ... piratey. He still had no idea why they had taken him, if they weren't going to kill him or demand ransom.

Brendon finished his oatmeal at about the same time they set down with a soft thump. He was secretly impressed--he'd figured air travel to be bumpier and less amenable, but the pirates seemed to know their way around very well.

Brendon was standing at the kitchen window, staring out of it, when one of the pirates came back in. It was Ryland, and he beckoned to Brendon. "Follow me," he said. He led Brendon from the ship.

The ship was parked in a yard. There were houses nearby and Brendon devoted a moment to wondering whether the neighbours noticed the airship parking in the middle of the street.

A barn door was the entrance to a huge room. It was filled with tools and spare parts from what Brendon could see. There was a familiar smell of oil that settled his nervousness.

"Sit down here," Ryland said. "Just stay put and out of the way." Then he was gone.

Brendon watched the pirates hurry between the ship and the work shop, as he'd started to call the room. Several doors led away and one of the other guys was rummaging around in what Brendon presumed to be a storage room, cursing loudly. When he reappeared, he looked hassled and angry.

"Gabe, we don't have a spare stabiliser," he called unhappily. "We'll have to get a new one."

"Get Bob to bring us one." Gabe didn't seem to be particularly upset. "Take Victoria with you, Nate, Bob likes her."

Nate rolled his eyes, as did Victoria, but they both left anyway. Brendon felt both amused and slightly weirded out. He sat at a workbench, which held several interesting items, among them something that Brendon was pretty sure belonged to an electric guitar. But he didn't dare to check it out because whenever he looked around to make sure nobody was watching him, Gabe was grinning back at him.

Brendon was just contemplating whether he could sneak away, while the pirates were carrying food and other stuff on board, when everybody congregated in the workshop. Brendon sat up straight. Now he would finally learn what they wanted him for.

"Until we get the new stabiliser, we're not going anywhere," Gabe said. "Alex, does anything else need fixing?"

Alex shook his head. "No, everything else is still in working order. We need to stock up on fuel, though."

"We'll do that after installing the stabiliser," Gabe decided. "So go forth and frolic then."

Alex and Ryland immediately left the workshop through a door nobody had opened before. Gabe made to follow them. Brendon felt supremely confused.

"But what about me?" he asked.

Gabe turned around. "What about you?" he echoed.

"Well, what will you do with me?"

Gabe shrugged. "Something." He turned around and walked away again, but he called over his shoulder, "take one of the rooms on the second floor."

Brendon followed him. It still didn't make any sense, but he was feeling the consequences of spending a night on the floor of a broom closet. His body ached, and he was tired. He missed his friends and he was scared and truly completely flummoxed. Gabe showed him a small room with a bed and a wardrobe. "Like that one?"

Brendon nodded. The room was as good as any other.

"Then it's yours."

Gabe left without giving Brendon a second glance or bothering to lock the door. Brendon sat down on the bed and stared at the door. He wished this all made at least a little bit more sense.

~~~***~~~

"Are you sure we're going the right way?" Ryan kicked a stone. "Shouldn't we have found Brendon by now?"

Spencer bit his tongue. There was no use in yelling at Ryan just because he was asking the same questions that Spencer was wondering about. They had long since passed the edge of the wood. Spencer had figured that the pirates would have disposed of Brendon soon, one way or another. If Brendon was trying to get back home, he would've tried to find the next street (Brendon was the most orientation-challenged person Spencer knew), or so Spencer at least assumed. Ryan's earlier comment hadn't been without reason. He hoped to God that Brendon wasn't wandering around in the woods, without direction and supplies. He had only been wearing a thin shirt the night before, perhaps he'd fallen sick during the night. It was still just early spring and--Spencer took a deep breath.

"I don't, Ryan," Spencer answered truthfully. "But they probably wouldn't have taken him far away."

"Okay," Jon said, "let's just keep going for a few more hours."

The road was busy and they had to keep to the side to avoid being run over by the horse cars. The longer they walked, the more angry Spencer felt at everyone who passed them by. By now they had reached the desert and needed to make regular stops to fill up their water supply at the wells that had been built on the channels. Spencer hurried them on--although they were walking fast, they were only a few miles past the town borders. The heat was oppressing, now that they didn't even have the shadows of the trees. Spencer hadn't ever in his life ventured beyond the edge of the forest and he didn't know how long they would have to walk until the next town. Nobody walked such distances anymore, and Spencer envied every carriage that was speeding past them.

Above their heads airships were zipping past, the smaller ones with incredible speed, the large freight ships almost leisurely flying along. Spencer wanted to stay put and just stare at them for a moment. They occasionally saw a ship passing by Summerlin, but the direct route from Los Angeles to Las Vegas wasn't close to Summerlin, so it still was a novel experience to see so many at once. They navigated around each other by yelling and signs and it seemed chaotic and stressful, and Spencer thought he could just watch them for hours.

Instead they kept going. Spencer hoped that nothing bad had happened to Brendon.

"Spencer," Ryan said quietly a while later.

Spencer wondered whether ignoring him and keeping going would make Ryan be quiet. But he hadn't even gone an additional yard when Ryan gently grabbed his hand and stopped him.

"Spencer," he said, "Brendon's not here."

Spencer knew that. The realisation had slowly been sinking in ever since they had passed the edge of the forest shortly after noon. By now they were in drier land, where no large trees could grow anymore. They could see for miles all around them. But Brendon was nowhere to be found. There were no signs of of an airship landing. They wouldn't just throw Brendon off their ship while flying. No one would be that cruel. Spencer felt his stomach knot up in dread. He tried not to think of the many stories he'd heard. Travelling merchants couldn't be trusted, their stories were made up of as much truth as of lies and exaggerations. Instead he went with the only other explanation he could think of for Brendon's continued absence: the pirates had taken Brendon with them, wherever they had been heading.

"Spencer." Now Jon was standing on Spencer's other side, shifting from one foot to the other, not quite looking Spencer into the eye. "They must have taken him to their base."

"Barstow," Spencer said quietly. It seemed so close and yet so far. Spencer's feet were already hurting now--he was used to being on his feet all day, but walking was exhausting. Spencer had packed enough provisions, though, to last them a few more days.

"It's a five day walk until Barstow," Jon said. Spencer nodded.

"That's a really long time," Ryan added cautiously. "We'd be gone longer than a week."

"But shouldn't we at least try and make it to Barstow to report to the police?" Spencer ventured. His chest felt tight. He didn't know how they could make the round trip to Barstow without a transport in only one week. Walking would take them ten days and Spencer couldn't ask for that. He hurt all over at the thought of stopping now, though.

Ryan sighed. "The sheriff already will--"

"No, he won't," Jon interrupted him. "He'll only notify the next county if there's a search and rescue."

"But Brendon's parents didn't want one," Spencer said. "So he won't."

"Yeah, he won't." Jon looked sad. "Nobody will even know he's missing."

Ryan picked up his bundle resolutely. "Then let's go to Barstow," he said. "And tell them that Brendon's missing."

Spencer looked at him surprised. Ryan gave him a weak smile. "Someone has to go looking for him. And when we have to go back, the police will do it."

Spencer hugged Ryan. He wanted to thank him, but his throat had closed up. Instead he squeezed him tightly. There wasn't anything he could say anyway. They were risking their livelihoods for Brendon and no words Spencer could offer would be able to be thanks enough.

"I know how much he means to you," Ryan said quietly.

Spencer closed his eyes and suppressed a sigh. His life, he thought, would be so much easier if he didn't love Brendon as much.

Ryan patted Spencer's back awkwardly and Spencer had to smile. "Thank you," he whispered, his lips parched and his throat still tight. "Thank you."

Ryan shrugged. "He's our friend," he said. Then he eyed the road and set off. "Come on. It's not going to get any earlier if we just stand there waiting."

Spencer grabbed his stuff and together with Jon he followed Ryan. And for the first time since they passed the forest, Spencer felt something akin to hope again. He might not have Brendon right now, but he still had Ryan and Jon and together they would figure this out. They would have to stretch their supplies and money, but they had enough for a week at least. Spencer had maybe overpacked a little, but now he was glad for it.

~~~***~~~

Brendon ventured out of his room for dinner. There was a huge vat of soup in the kitchen and he served himself a bowl. Since it was quiet and Brendon was bored, he dared to look around a bit. The house was big, but nothing like a mansion.

Brendon stumbled across the door the yard by accident. He had no idea which direction he was going, so he was surprised to find himself in the yard, when he opened the door. He was almost opposite the door to the workshop, right next to the airship.

Brendon hadn't had a lot of time to look at the airship before he was grabbed by the pirates, and he was utterly fascinated by the construction. When he realised that there was no fence, Brendon stopped. He'd just figured out the way the support beams were attached to the balloon and Brendon's fingers were itching to touch it, wanting to touch and see the exact combination of screws and cogs and sprockets. But nobody was around, the house had been all quiet, and there was no fence. Brendon didn't know where they were, but that was something to worry about after he'd gotten away. This was his chance to flee. What was he waiting for.

Brendon took one step away from the house and the airship. Then another one. One more. His heart was beating rapidly. He was scared, what if he managed to get himself even more lost? The pirates at least hadn't seemed intent on hurting him until now, although that could change. One more step. Brendon thought of Spencer, of his smile and how scared he must be. He took three more fast steps and was just about to start running, when he bumped into someone.

Ryland was grinning down at him. "We hadn't heard you leave your room," he said. "I should probably take you with me."

Brendon's heart fell. He didn't want to fight Ryland, since he stood no chance of winning anyway. So Brendon just let Ryland lead him back into the house. They went downstairs. There were strange noises coming from one of the rooms. They seemed familiar in a way, but Brendon was sure he'd never heard anything like that before.

When they entered the room, he realised why: Victoria had put together the body of a clock guitar and the sound mechanism of a clock piano. It seemed terribly out of tune, though. Brendon suspected that there were several loose screws or cogs which needed to be tightened.

Victoria cursed loudly. "This won't work!"

She sat down the instrument carelessly on the floor. "This was the stupidest idea I'd ever had."

"I told you," Gabe said from the other corner of the room, "that it would work. You must've fucked something up."

"Nate, hit Gabe," Victoria demanded.

Nate threw a drum stick at Gabe who batted it away easily.

"No points for you," Victoria said. "You could've at least gotten up."

Nate shrugged and continued drumming with one stick.

Brendon snickered. Victoria glared at him, and he forced himself to be silent, but Gabe just started laughing. "Don't be afraid of our Victoria," he said. "She's all bark. She only bites when you explicitly ask her to, and sometimes she won't even then because she likes to be contrary."

"If he doesn't want to be glared at, he can fix this." Victoria pointed to her piano guitar hybrid. "See how well he does."

"We should probably get a clocksmith to look at that," Nate said quietly.

"Gerard's busy," Ryland threw in. "Bob said that he'll bring us the parts for the ship this afternoon and he'll help us put them in because Gerard's just too swamped to leave the shop. Gerard's not going to be able to come by until next month or so."

"Damn." Gabe frowned.

"Um," Brendon said. Everyone turned to look at him. He felt uncomfortable with so much attention focused on him. "I, uh, I'm a clocksmith?" he offered cautiously.

Victoria grabbed his arm and dragged him to her. "Then fix this."

"We don't even know whether he's a real clocksmith," Nate pointed out. Brendon was starting to think that Nate was the only sane pirate around.

"Hell, he can't make it any worse."

Brendon knelt down in front of the instrument. He turned it around a few times, trying to figure out how Victoria had put it together. Then he slowly took away the covering, making sure not to mix any of the parts up.

The pirates watched him with interest, and Brendon could feel their eyes concentrated on him. It made him be all the more careful. Soon, though, they started to entertain themselves otherwise, when it became apparent that Brendon wasn't just going to adjust one screw and the instrument would be magically fixed.

Brendon relaxed, slowly getting lost in the familiar motions of screwing, unscrewing, taking apart, putting back together pieces and apparatus. It took him about half an hour to figure out the problem--the bellows used to create the sound waves in the guitar part weren't properly connected to the tubes from the piano keys. After that, it was child's play.

As soon as he had put everything back together, Brendon carefully tried out the instrument. He played an f sharp and it sounded perfectly in tune. He played a little, trying out the range of the instrument, delighted to find out that it didn't carry as much as a full piano, but mixed in the portability of the guitar.

When Brendon looked up, Victoria was leaning over his shoulder. "It was genius of you to put these two parts together," he said. "The sounds it creates are extraordinary."

Victoria grinned. "It was just an idea I had." She took the instrument from Brendon. "You play?"

"The piano?" Brendon looked up surprised.

Victoria nodded.

Brendon felt a pang of longing for his parents' old beat-up upright piano. He wondered whether he'd ever get to play it again. "Yes, I do," he said. He left it at that, unwilling to share any more facts. They were still pirates after all.

Victoria started playing a low melody. Brendon recognised the song from the carnival. He'd stood at the corner of the booth, listening to a man play sad song after sad song, mesmerised by the amount of emotion he put into his voice. Brendon hadn't wanted to ever leave the carnival. Spencer had come to get him, but instead of hauling Brendon right out, he'd stood next to Brendon. Brendon had leaned against him, enjoying their physical closeness as much as the music. Spencer had been warm and solid. Brendon had closed his eyes and imagined that the music was only played for Spencer and Brendon. After the song had ended, they had stayed for another one and then one more. Only when the performer took a break, Spencer had put his arm around Brendon's shoulders and told him, "let's go home now." Brendon had gone with him.

Spencer. Brendon wished they hadn't fought, that he hadn't left Spencer in anger. Spencer was just trying to be a good friend--it didn't matter that Brendon didn't want his friendship, that he wanted ... but now it all seemed pointless anyway. Brendon wasn't sure he'd ever be able to go home.

Perhaps it was the combination of heartache and homesickness that made Brendon sing along quietly with Victoria's song. Perhaps it was just the memory of a sad song, the lyrics etched into Brendon's brain. He'd first heard it at the carnival and he could still remember the way the man's voice had almost broken when he had sung the chorus. Sometimes he wondered whether he was all right. He'd never been very good in school, only capable with his hands. But Brendon never had any problems remembering a song once he'd heard it.

"You can sing!"

Brendon looked up at Gabe's excited shout. "Um," he said. "Yes?"

Gabe clapped his hands. "Now I know what I'm going to do with you." He sounded much too pleased with himself for Brendon's liking.

"Um," Brendon repeated. A dozen different scenarios crossed his mind--sold into slavery! forced to sing in bars! taken to the circus!--and he shivered.

"I'll take you to Pete." Gabe's eyes gleamed. "He could use you."

Brendon was just about to ask _Pete who?_ , when someone knocked loudly on the door.

"Ah, that'll be Bob," Nate said, while he rolled to his feet. "With the spare parts."

"Let's take care of that," Gabe said, "and then we can leave for Chicago!"

"You just don't like being stuck in one place too long," Victoria said pointedly.

"You know me too well, sweet maiden."

"Please." Victoria snorted in an entirely unmaidenlike way. "I can hurt you."

"I know." Gabe was practically purring. "You should get right on with that."

Victoria just laughed and left the room. When Gabe passed Brendon on his way out, he grabbed Brendon's wrist and dragged him up.

"You're just the perfect gift for Pete." Gabe beamed and then patted Brendon's head. "He'll love you."

Brendon very vehemently did not want to be loved by any strange men. He opened his voice to tell Gabe exactly how much he didn't want to, but Gabe was already leaving. Brendon blinked confused and then ran after Gabe. Perhaps a pirate's life makes you mad, he thought.

When Brendon stumbled into the workshop, a tall blond man with a beard was there, surrounded by all the pirates. They were gathered around a large box, filled with the spare parts, Brendon presumed. Nobody took any notice of him except for the new guy. He gave Brendon a look, before turning back to the box.

"This is the best I can do on such short notice."

"Hm," Gabe said, "it'll have to do."

"Thanks, Bob." Nate was positively beaming. Brendon had no idea what was going on here. He didn't know whether to be scared or amused.

"Don't wait too long to replace this piece of the engine," Bob warned, "or else you might get stranded in the middle of the fucking desert."

"Pete'll have one," Gabe said.

"You're going to Chicago?"

"Yeah." Gabe poked the thing in the box. "You gonna help us put this in?"

Bob snorted. "We're busy enough as it is." He walked to the door, just calling over his shoulder, "if you need something else, send someone to Frank!"

Then he was gone. Only now Brendon realised that he could've tried to sneak away while they were distracted. He only had a moment to mourn his missed opportunity, though, because Gabe clapped his hands.

"So, boys and girl," Gabe said, "let's get ourselves on the road."

Ryland took Brendon with him to do inventory, while the others fixed the ship. Brendon hoped that the noise they made actually was fixing the ship--he didn't want to be on the ship, but he wanted it to crash even less while he was still onboard.

"We need more eggs," Brendon told Ryland, after checking the inventory.

"We always do." Ryland sighed and put _eggs_ on his ever-growing list of things they had to stock up on. Brendon waited until the scratching of the quill on the paper stopped before he continued the inspection. Ryland was a slow writer, and the constant scratching was soothing. Waiting was kind of boring, though.

"So," Brendon started, feeling daring. He believed now that he wasn't about to be killed, but his future was still unsure. The pirates didn't seem to follow any kind of plan and were just as unpredictable as ever. "Pete?"

"Pete's Pete," Ryland said. "He's fun, you're gonna like him. Everybody does."

Brendon was less sure about that. Gabe and his crew weren't exactly bad, but he still figured that people who consorted with pirates weren't God-fearing Mormons.

"But Pete who?"

"Oh, it's Pete Wentz, of course."

"Oh, no," Brendon whispered.

"His bar is awesome. If you don't know where it is, it's almost impossible to find." Ryland seemed extraordinarily excited about this. "And you'll like his boys, too."

Pete Wentz, as far as Brendon knew, was the worst thing to ever happen to Chicago. Vegas had its own big gangsters, intent on making money and ruthlessly achieving their goals any way possible. But they were at least predictable--don't cross the mobster, be polite, and he'll let you live. The wannabe Robin Hood in Chicago, who sometimes defaced the city's buildings with indecipherable writings, who thought it funny to rob people at night, who came and went without ever being seen, he was almost as infamous as Gabe himself. Of course, Brendon thought, he should have figured that they would know each other.

Brendon hoped that the repairs would take a long time. He desperately needed to escape, now, before they were leaving for Chicago. Once the airship had taken off, it was too high up the ground to leave it safely--or at least fast enough not to be caught again immediately. But he was still in the kitchen, with Ryland blocking the only entrance.

Brendon counted slowly the cans of jam in the cupboard, stalling for time. There had to be a way to get off the ship, out of the yard and away from the house, leading to ... the city. Brendon figured they were near a city at least, because they had only sent for Bob yesterday, so they couldn't be too far out. Surely it wasn't too far to talk--

Brendon startled as Victoria came rumbling into the kitchen. "We're all done. Do you have a list for me?"

Ryland gave her the sheets on which he'd noted their grocery needs. "We should still have most of that in the pantry," he said.

Victoria nodded and left. Brendon sat on the floor in front of the cupboard, feeling sick and shaken.

"Come on," Ryland said. "I have to put you away, so we can set up to leave."

This time he didn't put Brendon into a broom closet, but a real room. It didn't feel anymore comfortable. There was only a small window, just big enough to let in light to illuminate the room, but even Brendon with his slight frame couldn't have gone through it.

When Brendon felt the first shakes of the engine starting, he slid down the wall near the door. It was all hopeless. He was stuck here and the pirates would take him to the bandits and ... this couldn't end well for Brendon. _I'm sad_ , he thought, _that I will never see anyone I love again._

He knew should have been thinking of his parents, of his siblings, of all his friends--but he could only think of Spencer. "I'm sorry," he whispered, when the airship took off with a tremendous shake and then they were leaving.

~~~***~~~

The night had been rough. Although there were inns along the road, they hadn't managed to find one before night fell. Spencer was sure that Ryan and Jon were blaming that on him--Spencer had pushed for them to keep walking a little bit longer as they passed an inn in the late afternoon. "Surely, there'll be dozens more inns further up the road," he'd said. "I've lost count already of how many we've passed. Let's keep walking for another hour."

Spencer was worried about Brendon--they were Brendon's only hope of getting back home, and Spencer, Jon and Ryan hadn't seen hide nor hair or any unmarked airships all day. Spencer almost didn't even want to stop to sleep. With every hour they didn't spend trying to catch up, Brendon was moving further out of their reach. He hadn't mentioned it, though. But he had convinced them to keep walking and then paid for it by having to sleep on the ground. Their bags were hard, filled as they were with supplies, and the night wasn't very restful.

Neither Ryan nor Jon openly accused Spencer, but they weren't very talkative in the morning, a sure sign for both that they were in a crappy mood. Spencer, too, could feel it in his bones: sleeping on the ground hadn't been comfortable, and he only fell asleep due to his physical exhaustion. He'd woken up several times during the night, cold and freezing. It hadn't been a very restful night.

Spencer still wanted to move on faster--if he'd thought it feasible at the least, he would have started running. Neither Ryan nor Jon were walking very fast, though.

"My feet hurt," Ryan said quietly, while he stared at the road.

"Mine, too." Jon sighed. "But we'll get used to it soon, right?"

Spencer smiled to mask his anger. How could Ryan complain about blisters, when Brendon was in a life-threatening situation? He didn't want the situation to escalate, though. They still had a long way ahead of them before they reached Barstow and Spencer was intimately familiar with Ryan's sulking. He preferred to avoid it at all costs. Spending hours or days with Ryan not speaking was exhausting and Spencer didn't have any energy to spare at the moment.

But what brought on their fight, after all, was neither their exhaustion nor their pain--it was as mundane as a fork in the road without proper sign posts.

"Um," Jon said, "neither of these signs is for Barstow."

"That can't be," Spencer replied. "We followed the road straight to this point--it must say."

"Well, it doesn't." Jon's reply was unusually sharp. "Look for yourself."

Spencer wished he'd remembered to get a map. Since they normally never left Summerlin, his family didn't own one. He should have asked the sheriff for one.

It didn't matter, though, now. Spencer swallowed heavily as he read the signs slowly. One pointed back to Vegas, back to where they were coming from, another to Los Angeles, another to San Francisco--but none to Barstow.

Spencer stared at the posts stupidly. He was as far from home as he'd ever been and now he would have to admit defeat because of a missing sign. He couldn't remember which way Barstow. He thought it might be close to Los Angeles, since he knew people were passing through Barstow to get to Los Angeles. But perhaps it was further up north, closer to San Francisco and a different road led from Barstow to Los Angeles. Spencer wished he knew more about the geography of his own country.

Ryan tugged at his sleeve. "Come on, sit down," he said. "Let's have a break and then we'll decide how to go on."

"I don't know," Spencer said. "I don't know which way to choose."

"Then we'll take one at random."

"But what if we choose wrong?" _What if Brendon died because they were meandering around?_

"Sit down," Ryan insisted. "Eat something. We'll figure it out."

Spencer still wasn't any closer to a decision by the time he'd eaten a slice of bread and some cheese. The food felt like stones in his stomach. They were disturbed by a carriage coming down the hill.

"Ho!" the driver yelled and came to a stop. "Hello there, lads. Can I help you?"

"We're trying to get to Barstow," Jon said. It was the first carriage that had stopped. By now Spencer had given up on trying to explain everyone's reluctance to stop and help them. He didn't think they seemed that dangerous. It was idle contemplation, though.

"Well, you're on the right road then."

"But we don't know which road to take," Ryan said.

The driver laughed. "It's your lucky day then." He pointed to the back of his carriage. "As it happens, I'm on my way to Barstow. So God willing, we should arrive there tonight."

"Thank you for your offer," Spencer said, "but we cannot pay very much--"

Ryan unceremoniously kicked Spencer and he shut up. The driver grinned. "I don't mind. It'll be nice not to spend the entire journey all by myself."

Jon climbed up on the front, settling down next to Tom, as the driver introduced himself. Spencer and Ryan found space on the carriage, squished together between wares, but still more comfortable than the road.

Spencer stretched his tired legs. His feet hurt and it felt good to be sitting down and still make headway. He wished they were already in Barstow, that he could set in motion the next stage.

"Do you think he's scared?" Spencer asked Ryan.

Ryan had nodded off and he startled awake. "Who?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"Brendon." Spencer paused, unsure how to continue. "I miss him," he said quietly.

Ryan awkwardly patted Spencer's knee. "He'll be fine," Ryan said. "The sheriff in Barstow will know where to look. We'll find him."

Spencer hoped Ryan was right.

The ride was bumpy, and when they finally arrived in Barstow, Spencer was glad to get off the carriage. He was happy for not having had to walk the entire way, so he thanked Tom profusely. He just waved them away. "Good luck finding your friend!"

Ryan snorted. "First we need good luck finding the sheriff's house," he said. It was already evening and one after another, the shops were closing down for the night. They asked several people for directions, some leading them astray. Barstow was bigger than any town Spencer had ever been to--his heart was beating high in his throat, as they pushed through the streets. There were many people around, Spencer would wager that there were just as many as he'd seen at the carnival, but that had spread over an entire acre, booth after booth and tent after tent. Here they all seemed to congregate on the market place.

Finally they saw the flag at the sheriff's house. An older man was standing outside on the porch, smoking a pipe. Spencer envied him his ease with the world. He hadn't slept well last night and part of him wished to be already back home again, in his familiar soft bed. Spencer hoped he would be able to go home soon--with Brendon in tow.

"Good evening," Spencer called out. "We'd like to talk to the sheriff."

The guy mustered them, in their wrinkled clothing, shoes dirty and dusty from the road. They had their parcels slung around them, for ease of carrying, and Spencer thought they must look like hobos, homeless and jobless. "Yeah," he drawled. "What about it?"

"We're looking for our friend," Ryan said. His nasal monotone was even more monotone than usual, one of the few tells he had of being nervous. Spencer wished he felt comfortable enough to grab Ryan's hand, show him that he wasn't alone in this. Spencer wished for so many things he couldn't do.

The guy looked at them. Spencer shivered a little bit in the cold evening breeze. The guy sighed. "Come inside."

It was warm and the chairs the sheriff pointed to were even comfortable.

"So where's your friend?" the sheriff asked. "Did he run away to L.A. to become a singer?"

"Um, no," Spencer said. "He was taken by pirates."

The sheriff shrugged. "That's too bad," he said. "But why did you come here then? We have no pirates here."

Jon sat up straight. "The sheriff of Summerlin told us that Saporta lives round here, that his base is here."

"They told you something wrong," the sheriff said. "Saporta's base is in L.A."

"Are you sure?" Spencer felt tired and dizzy. Saporta couldn't be in L.A. Brendon couldn't be in L.A.

"Yep," was their answer. "If Saporta lived anywhere close here, we would've already caught him, boys. Barstow ain't that big."

"I see," Spencer whispered.

"Sorry that I couldn't help you." The sheriff sounded actually concerned. "But if you want to find Saporta, you gotta go to L.A."

"Thank you for your time," Ryan said, while he stood up. "We're sorry to have been a bother."

The sheriff shook his head. "You weren't."

Spencer didn't know how they ended up outside. He thought that Ryan must have guided him--he had the vague memory of a hand on his arm, another hand in the small of his back. Night had already fallen and in the sky the stars were shining brightly.

"L.A.," Spencer whispered.

"Yeah," Jon replied. "Let's figure that out tomorrow." He rubbed Spencer's arm. "Ryan's still inside giving them a description of Brendon. Just in case he turns up here after all."

Spencer nodded. "That's good," he said inanely. The street in front of him was still bustling, despite the late hour. Spencer thought, _Brendon_.

"He gave me directions to a cheap inn," Ryan said when he joined them a minute later. "It's not far."

Spencer just walked after Ryan and Jon. He wasn't interested in food or sleep: he wanted to know how far away Los Angeles was, how long they would have to walk. A week perhaps? Spencer thought they had enough supplies to last them that long, even though walking was exhausting. They would just have to make do.

Ryan and Jon found the inn. They shared a two-bed room, and the innkeeper didn't even blink. It made the cost of the inn bearable for each of them. Spencer looked at his wallet and counted the left over coins and few bills. They couldn't afford many more nights in inns, if they wanted to arrive in L.A. with even a little bit of money left.

"Go to sleep", Ryan told him. His voice was gentle. "It's been a long day."

"Yes," Spencer said absentmindedly. He undressed in a haze--he was sure he had folded his clothing himself and put it on the small dresser in their room, but he couldn't remember doing so. The mattress was hard and lumpy, but it still felt much better than the bare ground. Despite a thousand thoughts running rampant in Spencer's mind he fell asleep quickly, the exhaustion of the day catching up with him. Ryan and Jon were whispering, their quiet conversation proving to be the perfect background noise to pull Spencer into sleep.

The next morning Spencer woke up rested and relaxed. The sun was shining, birds were singing outside their window, and Los Angeles wasn't that far away. If they were as lucky as yesterday and could hitch a ride for part of the way, it would only take them a few days to get there.

Both Jon and Ryan were also already awake.

"Good morning," Spencer said cheerfully. "We should have breakfast. We have a long way ahead of us."

His friends shared a look that Spencer couldn't decipher. "All right," Jon said. "Let's eat something."

They ate some of the bread and cheese that Spencer had packed. Afterwards Spencer quickly put his bundle back together.

"Come on, we don't have any time to lose."

"Yes," Jon said, "we'll probably need at least three days to get back."

"Get back?" Spencer sat down on one of the beds.

"Summerlin," Jon said. "We have to go back."

"No," Spencer said feebly. "You heard. The pirates' base is in Los Angeles and--"

"That's at least a week's walk away from here and we don't know how to get there," Ryan said. "Spencer, we can't do that."

"Of course, we can," Spencer said. "We can buy a map. There's no reason why ..." He trailed off as he remember Ryan's words _We have one week_.

"I have to go back," Ryan said. He looked sad. "I can't afford to lose my job."

Spencer turned to look at Jon.

"Cassie," Jon said. "We've only been married for a year, Spencer, and she's carrying my child. I miss her. We have to go back."

"But we've come so far," Spencer pleaded. "We can't just leave Brendon in the hands of pirates."

"Spencer," Ryan said. "We don't even know if he's still alive."

Spencer's chest hurt. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "He still is," Spencer said. "He can't be--he has to be alive." _I think I would feel it if he were gone_ , Spencer thought. _I would know._

Jon sighed. "Spencer, we don't want to abandon him, either. But ..." Jon shrugged, helplessly waving his hands. "We can't risk our livelihoods to chase phantoms across the country."

"I see," Spencer said.

"I'm glad you do," Ryan said. He seemed honestly relieved. Spencer thought that perhaps Ryan had been scared that Spencer would be angry. As much as Spencer wished he could be mad at them, yell and curse, he couldn't. He knew how much his job meant to Ryan, who'd had so little as a child. He had been there when Jon and Cassie met, had been there while they fell in love, the wooing and the wedding and the day Jon had come running into their respective stores, telling each of his friends the happy news of Cassie being pregnant. He wished he could resent them. It wouldn't hurt as much then. But he knew that they had already displayed a lot of trust and willingness. They had risked a lot by agreeing to follow Spencer to Barstow, on the little speck of hope that Brendon might be there. Rationally Spencer knew that he couldn't ask them to follow him on a wild goose hunt, where they would risk their livelihoods and family. It didn't make it hurt any less, though, when he realised that from now on he would have to go on by himself.

"Tell my mother I'll write her a letter when I can," Spencer said. He got up and collected his stuff. "I obviously won't know when I'll return, but I'll my best to check in every once in a while, so she won't worry needlessly."

"Spencer, what?" Ryan got up slowly, reaching out for him. "Spencer, what are you doing?" But his eyes showed that Ryan knew what was happening--he just couldn't believe it.

"I can't stop here. I can't go home without knowing that Brendon ... without knowing for sure."

Both Jon and Ryan looked upset. "No, Spencer, you will lose your job," Jon said. "You can't--"

"No," Spencer said, voice full of determination. "I can. And I will. This is my decision." He looked them both in the eyes, one after another. "I understand your reasons why you have to go home; please try to accept why I can't do that just yet."

Ryan grabbed Spencer's arm. "Spencer ..." He sounded sad and worried.

Spencer smiled. "It's fine. I'll find him, you see."

Ryan scooped Spencer up in a hug. Spencer gasped in surprise, but he hugged Ryan back tightly.

"I hope you'll do find him," Ryan whispered. "For your sake."

Jon wrapped his arms around the two of them. "Bring him home," he said quietly.

"I will." Spencer felt both alone and loved. It made him all the more determined. How lonely and sad and desperate Brendon must be, all alone among pirates, probably threatened within an inch of his life every day?

They all left for the market soon afterwards. "People will sell their wares and then go back home," Jon said. "It's our best bet to find someone to take us home."

Spencer walked a little bit behind them, taking in the sights. Barstow had a bigger market than Summerlin and in broad daylight the town looked nice. At the market Jon ambled through the aisles of booths, offering fruit or or fabric or pottery, making idle chit-chat. Ryan, never one for much small talk, fell back next to Spencer.

Spencer stopped next to a clocksmith's booth. He was displaying little tools, a cutting machine that managed to slice a carrot into tiny cubes in only one step, and also toys, little carriages and ships that could move on their own. Spencer felt a pang in his chest, as he looked at the one single instrument, a flute, that was there.

Ryan nodded at the clocksmith and then gently led Spencer away.

"I miss him," Spencer said. He felt sad and tired.

"Spencer," Ryan started, but he stopped. When Spencer looked at him, Ryan was smiling, but it wasn't happy. "Isn't it time," Ryan said slowly, "that you finally admit your feelings for him?"

"I'm admitting them," Spencer said harshly. His heart was beating rapidly--he was half-afraid it would jump out of his chest. "He's my friend and I love him." When Ryan opened his mouth to speak, Spencer added quickly, "as a friend. I love him as a friend."

Ryan snorted. "You don't."

"He's my friend."

"I didn't say that was a lie," Ryan said. "But you don't love him as a friend. As _just_ a friend."

"Ryan." Spencer closed his eyes. "Please don't, I ... Brendon's Mormon. You know that." He knew what he was implicitly agreeing with. He loved Brendon, but in more ways than was appropriate for a friend.

"I do." Ryan seemed determined to argue this through. Spencer half admired him and half wished him to hell. Spencer didn't want to contemplate these things. "But, Spencer, when has Brendon cared more about the rules than about the people around him?"

Countless times, Spencer thought. It was true that Brendon also broke the rules often. He had drunk some coffee at the carnival last year, his giddiness more the effect of doing something forbidden than the invigorating effect of the coffee itself. He had been torn afterwards. "I shouldn't have," he'd told Spencer one night, while walking home. "The book says I shouldn't; but it felt good. Can something that feels good be truly bad for you?"

Brendon had no problems doing away with the little rules, the small sins. Spencer didn't think that the position of his church on same-sex union was as easy to ignore. There had been a couple once, a pair of young men, living next door to Spencer's grandmother, and she had mentioned them often. "These two're so much in love that just being near them makes me feel like I'm young again," she'd said smiling. When the men had moved away, she'd been sad. "It's this damn church," she'd said. Spencer remembered it clearly because he'd never heard his grandmother swear before and his mother had said exasperatedly, "Mother!"

Spencer had tried to talk to Brendon about it, but he'd been skittish and changed the topic time and again until Spencer gave up. No, Spencer thought. He didn't think that Brendon would be able to live that kind of sin. As common as those unions were in Summerlin, the Latter Day Saints kept a careful distance to them.

"Spencer?" Ryan gently squeezed Spencer's shoulder.

"He won't, Ryan," Spencer said. "It's ... he'll never go that far. He will never leave his family. Not for me."

"You won't know until you ask." Ryan leaned in close. "You have to risk it."

Spencer shook his head. "He's my friend," he said, "and as far as Brendon's concerned I'm just his friend, either. Nothing good can come from this." He forced himself to look at Ryan and smiled. "It's all right."

Ryan looked incredibly sad, like he was taking on some of Spencer's pain. "I hope you'll find him," he said, "and that you'll find the courage to talk to him."

"When he'll come back, he'll be getting married," Spencer said. "His parents have chosen a bride for him."

"God, you haven't understood anything." Ryan switched from sad to angry so fast that Spencer took a surprised step back. "If I could just make you see that-"

Jon came back. He looked between the two of them. "I've found someone who's going back to Vegas this afternoon," he said. "And someone who's going to Los Angeles." Another careful look later, he added, "did I miss something?"

Spencer felt his throat constrict, and he shook his head. It was bad enough that first Brendon and now Ryan were mad at him--if all his friends abandoned him, he wouldn't be able to bear it. "Nothing," he pressed out.

"He won't admit it," Ryan said to Jon. "He's standing there and Brendon's _just his friend_ , can you believe it?"

Jon smiled. "Yes, I can," he said. "Don't you remember those weeks before the wedding when I was sure that Cassie was just marrying me out of pity?"

"Brendon and I are nothing like you and Cassie," Spencer said.

Ryan pointed at Spencer and looked at Jon in what could be a gesture translating to _See? I told you_. Jon just kept smiling. "You'll realise it soon enough," he said. Then he wrapped Spencer up in a big hug. "Take care of yourself," he said. "And of Brendon when you find him."

Spencer was glad that his friends loved him enough to at least say _when_. "I will," he replied.

Ryan hugged him, too, a bonier, sharper version, but with just as much love. "Don't be cross," Spencer said quietly.

Ryan just shook his head, still holding on to Spencer. "I just hope you'll find your courage before you find him." He let go of Spencer, but didn't move away. "Don't get hurt," he said.

"I'll try not to."

Jon had found Spencer a cattle farmer named Richard. "I'm not going into L.A. proper," he said. "But close enough that you can reach it within one afternoon's walk."

"Thank you," Spencer said. "I appreciate it."

"Don't," Richard said. "The cart stinks and it's loud." He grinned. "Are you ready to leave?"

"Yes," Spencer said, and he grabbed his bundle. "I am."

It was time to go and find Brendon.

~~~***~~~

Brendon was epically bored. His room didn't hold anything of interest. The light coming in through the small window was painting figures across the wall and ceiling, but making up stories about shadows could only keep Brendon's attention for so long, and he had been so over it an hour ago.

It was why he was standing at the door, staring at the door knob. Should he dare to open it? He couldn't remember there being a lock (and what was it with these pirates that they never locked up their captives?), and even if Brendon left his room--where was he supposed to go? His situation was bad, but jumping off the ship still seemed a bit over the top.

Brendon cautiously turned the knob. The lock opened just fine. Outside it was quiet. When Brendon pulled the door open slowly, he held his breath. But the hallway was empty and nobody came running to put Brendon back into his room. He ventured out and down the hallway. It was suspiciously quiet. Brendon wasn't an expert on pirates, although he knew a little bit about these pirates, and one thing he could say was that they were never quiet. They even slept noisily. In this case, it made it very easy for Brendon to not run into them.

There was a huge window a bit further down the ship and Brendon tiptoed to it. When he took his first look out of the window, he stopped breathing. Outside the landscape was flying by fast, trees, rivers, streets. They weren't flying very high--Brendon swore that he could have touched some of those trees, if the window opened.

It was fascinating to watch. Brendon pressed his face and hands against the window. Nobody bothered them, although there were a lot of people around: farmers working on the fields, children playing on large meadows, people driving on the streets. Everything seemed peaceful from up high.

Brendon was so engrossed in watching that he didn't notice Gabe approach. He startled badly when Gabe wrapped himself around Brendon. "Whatcha watching, little one?"

"I'm not little," Brendon said stiffly.

Gabe laughed. He grabbed Brendon around his middle and pulled him up close. "Really?" he asked. Brendon's feet were dangling in the air and Brendon felt himself flush.

"Not everybody can be such a tall freak like you," Brendon retorted. Gabe sat him back on his feet.

"You're right," he said. "Not everybody can be as awesome as I am."

Brendon rolled his eyes, although he had to admit that Gabe was slowly growing on him. He had a certain off-kind of humour and was unpredictable. He could unexpectedly kind--the air around them was cold, and when Brendon had shivered earlier because he was still wearing just his thin work shirt, Gabe had given him a thick sweater without Brendon even asking. Brendon was less excited about the way Gabe dragged him all over the country, but even he couldn't help but be amused at Gabe's antics. Yes, Brendon liked him.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Brendon turned to look at Gabe. Gabe gestured out of the window. "I could spend all my life flying across the country, just watching them."

"Yeah," Brendon said. Underneath them, the face of the Earth was changing slightly.

"We'll arrive in Chicago tonight," Gabe said. "Better be ready, little one." He ruffled Brendon's hair as he left.

Brendon stared after him. He didn't know what it meant that nobody put Brendon back into his room, but he wasn't about to complain. Knowing a time of arrival, though, made the joy of seeing the world around him turn sour. Brendon didn't want to go to Chicago. He wanted to go home. He'd always wished to see Vegas, the Big City, or to go to Los Angeles and see the ocean. But now he couldn't imagine any place he'd rather be than Summerlin.

Brendon sulked in the kitchen. Soon Victoria walked in. She raised an eyebrow at him, but Brendon steadfastly ignored her. Then she settled in the chair next to him. She was wearing an incredibly short skirt, baring her legs up to the knee, and Brendon felt himself blushing.

Victoria was delighted by his reaction, if her laughter was anything to go by. "You're too cute," she said.

"You're indecent," Brendon said and he wanted to hit himself. It was such a stupid thing to say. Surely she'd know.

Victoria just grinned, though. "Pretty much," she agreed. "It's good for distracting people."

She tipped Brendon's chin up, making him look at her face. "And what has you in such a grumpy mood?"

Brendon shrugged tightly. "Nothing," he said.

"Don't listen to anything Gabe says. He has a history of being a jerk."

Brendon snorted.

"Also he talks a good game, but hardly comes through with any of his threats."

"I wish he'd do something," Brendon said.

"Like what?" Victoria pushed her chair closer. "What would you like him to do?" She seemed honestly interested, which Brendon didn't quite understand.

He rubbed his eyes. "Well, if he's not going to bring me home, he could just as well get it over with and kill me."

Victoria started laughing so loudly that Brendon startled. She collapsed onto the table, holding her stomach, while she laughed and laughed until she hiccuped and cried and choked and then she laughed some more.

All the other pirates came running to see what the commotion was. Brendon felt helpless and out of his depth. There hadn't been anything funny about what he'd said.

"What's going on?" Ryland asked. He was eyeing Brendon suspiciously, which made Brendon even more uncomfortable.

"Ryland, didn't you tell him anything?" Victoria asked, tears of laughter still running down her face.

Ryland shrugged.

"You're a bastard," Victoria said, but her gentle and even admiring tone felt out of place considering her words. She turned to Brendon.

"In short, we're not gonna kill you." She paused for a moment, then grinned. "Unless you want us to."

"Uh, no," Brendon said timidly. "I'd rather you didn't."

"Well, in that case I'll go back to sleep," Gabe pronounced.

"Uhm," Brendon said.

"You want to join me?" Gabe leered exaggeratedly at Brendon. Brendon shrunk back.

"No," he said.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Gabe sighed.

"But ... what are you going to do with me?" The question broke out of Brendon.

The pirates all froze on the spot. Nobody said anything, and Brendon started to feel really uncomfortable.

Then suddenly everyone sprang into motion.

"I'm gonna take that nap now," Gabe said, already sprinting down the hallway.

"I'll have to check the engine," and Nate was running away.

Alex grabbed Ryland. "We have to make sure we're not gonna hit any mountains."

It only left Victoria. "Fuckers," she said, "leaving me again to deal with this."

Brendon fidgeted on his chair. He wasn't sure what _dealing with this_ entailed and so far whenever he'd thought he'd figured something out about the pirates, they did something entirely unexpected, and Brendon was tired.

"If you're not planning to kill me," he asked, "then what are you going to do with me? And why take me then even?"

Victoria shrugged. "We don't take people on purpose," she said. "Sometimes we just pick people up."

Brendon stared at her. "You grabbed me and carried me onto your ship. You wouldn't let me leave and go home."

She laughed. "Yes, we couldn't have you tell the police you saw us. Besides," she shrugged, "nobody ever wants to go home again."

"I find that terribly difficult to believe."

"See, it's like this," Victoria said. "Where you're from, that town, how many people does it have?"

"Um, I don't know. It's not that small."

"Honey," Victoria said, "we're from L.A. Every city with less than a hundred thousand people's tiny."

"We don't have that many," Brendon ceded. "But what does that have to do with not wanting to go home?"

"Usually, after people realise that there's a whole world out there, they don't want to go back to their old lives, with their old expectations and restrictions." Victoria waved her hand. "At least neither Bob nor Eric wanted to."

She took stock of Brendon, his worn clothes and shoes. Brendon instinctually hunched in on himself, as if making himself a smaller target would make her eyes seem less piercing.

"I'll be frank with you," she said. "You don't look like you're going to inherit millions and I know these little towns. I've never lived in one, thanks heavens, but I know how the people there work. Is that really going to make you happy?"

"My parents want me to get married," Brendon said. He was shocked himself, to admit such a private detail to a virtual stranger. But it was also freeing.

"But you don't want to marry the nice girl your parents have picked out for you and have dozens of babies?"

"I'm a Latter Day Saint," Brendon said quietly. "And ... no, I don't want to marry a _girl_."

"Oh," Victoria said. Brendon was staring intently at his hands. He thought maybe he was shaking a little. He hadn't actually ever stated it out loud, not even for himself. He startled badly when Victoria wrapped him up in a hug.

"Any guy in particular?"

Brendon sighed.

"That's a yes," she said. "Is he hot?"

Brendon pushed her away and he was blushing furiously.

Victoria just grinned. "Another yes. And what does he think?"

"He-" Brendon's voice failed him and broke half-way through the single syllable. "No, it's not going to happen."

"Oh." Victoria remained silent for a moment.

"From what I've seen, you're a pretty good clocksmith," she said. "And Pete can always use someone who's good with his hands."

"I don't know," Brendon started, but he didn't know how to continue.

Victoria shrugged. "Doesn't seem to me like you've got anything to lose," she said.

Brendon figured she might very well be right. It still felt like he was betraying his friends and his family by even considering never going home. "We'll see," he said. Perhaps Pete didn't even want to hire him.

"Yeah, we'll do that." Victoria patted his back and then she got up. "You better try and have a nap. We'll arrive in Chicago in a few hours and nights in Angels & Kings are notoriously long, so don't count on getting any sleep until the morning."

Brendon nodded. He was still mulling over Victoria's offer in his mind. He didn't think he'd be able to get any sleep at all. But when he lay down on his soft bed again, exhaustion overcame him. He was asleep within minutes.

The sun was already setting when they reached Chicago. Brendon watched as lights went on in the houses among them. He'd never been to Las Vegas, but he heard that it was bright like day even at night because of the many lamps they used. Brendon thought that Chicago must look similar.

He was sitting at the large window, wrapped in the blanket he'd taken from his bed. He was still sleepy from his nap, had only woken up when Nate and Alex had run to the bridge.

Brendon startled when suddenly Victoria sat down next to him. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"We're almost there," she said. "There's a landing strip just a short way from Pete's club."

Brendon looked down at the city beneath them. "Isn't it dangerous," he wondered, "for you to fly over the city like this?"

Victoria shrugged. "They don't care what we get up to in Chicago."

"But that's not right." Brendon had heard this in school and in church so many times--you weren't supposed to break the law, or you would have to go to prison.

Victoria laughed. "Sure as hell it isn't. But that's just how it is." She poked Brendon. "Better get ready. Touchdown's usually a bit rough here because the landing strip's tiny."

She turned out to be right. Brendon had crawled over to the wall and was pressing himself against it. It felt like they were falling down, the noise of the engine had died down. Brendon wondered wildly whether it was just an elaborate plot to kill Brendon, but by crashing the airship they would probably kill themselves, too. Then suddenly their free fall ended. Brendon slid down the floor by the force of their sudden stop and then, with a loud clang, they landed.

Brendon lay on the floor and was very happy to still be alive.

"Told ya," Victoria said wryly as she passed him from her way back from the bridge.

Brendon just swallowed. His stomach had relocated to somewhere in his throat and he was dizzy. "I'll just stay here for a minute," he said, although Victoria had already gone away. "Just here," he repeated.

When Brendon managed to get up, he found the pirates gathering their instruments.

"Come on," Gabe said, "the carriage's already here."

The ride to the club was thankfully short--Brendon's stomach still hadn't quite forgiven him--but Brendon was a little bit disappointed when they reached their goal. He would have liked to keep watching Chicago. It looked so different from Summerlin, from every town Brendon knew. Mr Hoppes had taken Brendon to the market once, one town away. It had been a long trip for him: a full hour in the horse carriage. But everything Brendon saw now surpassed any of his experiences. The streets were broader and the buildings were taller than any he'd ever seen before.

Brendon was fascinated by the streets and the buildings and all the lamps in the streets illuminating their way. In Summerlin all outside life ceased when the sun set. The occasions when they built bonfires and stayed outside were few and generally they weren't condoned by the Latter Day Saints. The only times Brendon had left his parents' house at night was to get the doctor. It felt illicit to be out now.

It was still cold in Chicago, much colder than in Vegas and Brendon shivered in his thin clothes. What had been appropriate for working in the clocksmithy, now turned out to be woefully unfit to shield him from the cold. Still Brendon pressed to the window and kept peering out of it.

When someone put their jacket around Brendon's shoulder, he looked up, expecting to see Victoria who seemed to like Brendon well enough. But it was Gabe who sat down as if he hadn't done anything out of the ordinary. Brendon glanced at him surprised. He couldn't quite figure Gabe out. But then a flicker of light on the street caught his attention. He pressed his face close agains the window pane.

"Ah, we're almost there," Alex said.

Indeed the source of light turned out to be a huge array of lamps, arranged in two letters: AK.

"Welcome to the Angels and Kings," Gabe said as they got out. He was beaming now. "Let's have a ball."

Brendon followed them cautiously, still wearing Gabe's jacket. Brendon became more and more convinced that he'd been taken by the most unusual group of people he'd ever met.

They walked right to the huge door. "Hey, Dirty!" Gabe exclaimed. He thumped the huge guy at the door on the shoulder. "How's business?"

"Not bad, not bad," Dirty answered. "Good thing you're coming by, Pete's been bored lately.

Gabe grinned. "And I have the perfect distraction for him."

Dirty opened the door for them. The club wasn't as big as Brendon had figured, but his attention was taken immediately by the stage that dominated the faraway wall of the room.

Gabe walked straight through the club and right to a door with a sign _no entry_. Brendon followed him feeling jittery.

"Pete!" Gabe yelled, as soon as they were backstage. "Where the fuck are you bastard?"

Brendon blinked. A small guy came running towards them, laughing madly. "Hi there, fucker!" He threw himself at Gabe and for a moment Brendon was sure that there would be a fight, a gigantic tussle, but instead they just hugged each other tightly.

"Come on, I have something for you," Gabe said. He was grinning widely and led Pete to Brendon.

"Something for me? A present?"

"Yes!" Gabe grabbed Brendon's arm and dragged him down. "Here!"

Pete blinked at Brendon. Brendon blinked at Pete.

"Uhm," Pete said. Brendon found it very comforting that it wasn't he alone who was at a loss for words. "Thanks. What is he for?"

"He can sing," Gabe exclaimed proudly. "He's really good."

"But I already got one of those, Gabe."

Gabe waved him away. "Patrick's your husband. He doesn't count."

Brendon startled. _Husband_ , he thought and felt a pang in his chest. He was suddenly jealous of Pete, even though he hardly knew him. He had a husband and his friends could make jokes about them, and Brendon wanted that so very much it hurt and he couldn't.

"He totally does," Pete insisted.

"Well, whatever," Gabe said. "We can always figure this out later. Now that we're here, let's have fun tonight!"

Pete laughed. "I'm down with that." He led Gabe away and they were talking animatedly. Everyone else dispersed quickly after, too.

Nobody seemed to pay any thought to Brendon and while that reinforced the whole _not a captive_ status, it was just plain weird.

"Um," Brendon said. He was standing completely alone in the hallway of a night club in Chicago and he had no idea what was even going on anymore.

A guy walked by past Brendon and stopped suddenly. He gave Brendon a quick once-over. "Hey, who are you?"

"Brendon. I'm, uh, I don't know."

"Hi, I'm Joe. You don't know who or what you are?" Joe seemed amused.

"Gabe brought me here and--"

Joe waved. "Well, that explains a lot."

Brendon thought, _no, it really doesn't_. Nothing about this journey made any kind of sense, and the way everyone nobody seemed to mind just confused Brendon further.

Joe opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by Brendon's stomach growling loudly. Brendon flushed. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Nah, don't be," Joe said. "Come on, the kitchen's that way."

Brendon got some bread from the kitchen and then Joe led him away. "Sorry, but the show's gonna start soon. I have to fetch Patrick now."

Brendon nodded. "Pete's ... husband?" he ventured.

"Yeah. Have you met him?"

Brendon shook his head.

"Oh, you're gonna like him."

Brendon didn't know what he'd expected Pete Wentz's husband to look like, but he really didn't expect him to be even shorter than Brendon with light ginger hair.

"Hey," Joe said, "this one's from Gabe."

"I'm sorry," Patrick said as he shook Brendon's hand. Brendon just nodded.

"The show's gonna start soon," Joe pointed out.

"I'll take him with me," Patrick said. He was carrying a small instrument case and led Brendon back to the club proper.

"You can sit over there," he pointed to a table close to the stage. "Talk to Tom at the bar--he'll give whatever you order. It's on the house."

"Um," Brendon said. He figured it was safer to just sit down for the moment. He wasn't thirsty just yet, but his heart was beating fast and he was looking forward to listening some music.

The room was filling up, people coming in as couples and in groups. Brendon felt awkward, occupying one table just by himself, but no one seemed to mind. He wondered whether he should try and get something to drink, opening up his table for someone else. At the same time he felt incredibly selfish and wanted to keep it--it was a good vantage point: he could see all of the stage from here, and the more instruments set up on stage, the more excited Brendon became. The proper thing was to offer his good table to other people, but he didn't want to. With a start, Brendon realised that nobody could make him go away, unless Gabe or Pete or Patrick sent him away. But Patrick had explicitly told Brendon that he could sit down here, so it was probably all right.

Brendon almost jumped up, when someone set down a glass next to his elbow.

"Nervous, aren't we?" the guy, who Brendon recognised as the bartender--Tom, Patrick had called him--, said. "Here's something to drink for you."

"Thank you," Brendon managed. "I, uh, didn't order or--"

"I saw you sitting here like a chicken on its eggs," Tom said. "I figured you'd want something to drink, but didn't want to leave your table alone." He shrugged. "You're just in bad luck, because normally Pete doesn't miss any of Patrick's performances, but with Gabe and his crew here, he's pretty distracted. Normally he'd be all over you."

Brendon thought himself rather lucky that Pete was too occupied with Gabe to bother Brendon. It must have shown on his face because Tom laughed out loud.

"I guess you already had your Pete experience. Well, I gotta go, many people at the bar, many drinks to sell."

Brendon cautiously sipped at the glass as soon as Tom had disappeared into the throng of people surrounding the bar. It tasted bitter with a sharp tang that Brendon figured must be the alcohol. He'd had a beer once, at the carnival. Jon had bought it and Brendon, after spending all day with his friends, had felt bold enough to try a sip. It hadn't tasted very good. This, too, was foul, but it seemed to settle the knot of nerves in Brendon's stomach so he took another sip. That one went down better already. As Brendon slowly sipped his drink, he thought that maybe he could get used to the taste.

He was so absorbed by his drink that he missed the moment when the show was about to start. He almost spilled his drink over himself when he heard Patrick speaking. He'd stepped up to the sound amplifier in the middle of the stage.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to another evening at Angels and Kings. We're your band tonight and we hope you'll enjoy our contribution to your entertainment."

Then Patrick sat back down and they started to play. The music was nothing like anything Brendon had heard before. He listened, enraptured, song for song.

Patrick got up and played a solo on his trumpet, while the others faded into the background. Brendon was aware of the underlying beat and his heart was beating in time with the songs, fast on the upbeat ones, slow on the sad ones.

Brendon got so lost in the music, his eyes always trained on the stage, that he forgot everything else. When the music stopped, he blinked. There had been some talking in-between, the musicians announcing songs, but Brendon hadn't paid any attention, too impatient to hear more.

"Thank you for listening to us," Patrick said, "and we hope you'll express your appreciation of our fine art through many tips."

The crowd laughed, but Brendon's face fell. He was sad because he wanted more songs, wanted to keep the musicians on stage. He wanted to learn those songs--the lyrics sounded sad, even when the instruments played a lively melody, fast-paced and bouncy, and Brendon itched to try that. He wanted to know what was behind all of these songs, what they meant.

Now that the music had ended, Brendon felt like he was waking up from a trance. All around him, the hum of quiet conversations was penetrating the air. Brendon shook himself, as if he could clear his head by movement, and he startled when he bumped against glass. His drink was by now lukewarm. Brendon wrinkled his nose and shoved the glass away. If the drink had tasted foul cold, like it was meant to be drunk, then he didn't want to find out what it tasted like now.

Patrick dropped into the seat opposite of Brendon. He was smiling, his fair hair plastered against his forehead, little pearls of sweat still clinging to his skin. "I was half-afraid you'd crawl over to the stage to be closer to us." When he caught sight of Brendon's glass, he laughed. "You didn't even drink!"

Brendon shook his head. "I forgot," he admitted.

Patrick grinned. "I take that as a compliment," he said.

Brendon was aware that he was staring at Patrick, but he couldn't stop. _Please teach me all you know_ , he wanted to say. _Please teach me how to play music like that_.

Pete crashed into a free seat. "Good show, Trick," he said. He was smirking, when he turned to Brendon. "And you have a new fan."

Brendon blushed. "I, I'm not-"

But Pete waved him away. "Don't be sorry," he said. "Sooner or later we all fall for Patrick. He's irresistible."

Patrick hit Pete's arm. "Don't tease him," he said to Pete. To Brendon, "so you liked our show?"

Brendon nodded eagerly. "Yes," he said. "I've never heard music like that before. It's wonderful."

Patrick laughed. "It's a new kind of music," he said. "I could teach you, if you'd like that."

Brendon beamed. "Yes, please!"

Pete chuckled at him. Patrick hit him again. Brendon had to hide a giggle at their antics. It was obvious from the way Patrick didn't even look at Pete that it was an old spiel for them. It reminded Brendon of Ryan and Spencer and the way they could communicate almost entirely through eyebrows and the slant of their lips. He missed them all fiercely.

"Hey," Patrick said. "What's up?"

Brendon hesitated. "My friends," he started, "I miss them."

Patrick hummed. "Are you sure they miss you, too?"

Brendon startled. "Of course," he said, "they're my friends."

Pete sighed. Brendon turned to look at him.

"Ah, I see friends of mine." Patrick pointed to another table. "I just have to greet those guys, I'll be right back."

"Sure," Brendon said, confused by Patrick's sudden departure.

Pete glared at Patrick's back.

"What's going on?" Brendon was nervous.

Pete sighed again. "See, kiddo, the thing is ... Maybe you shouldn't miss your friends that much."

"What?" Brendon's voice was loud and a few people looked over to them. He forced himself to continue quietly. "They're my _friends_."

"Yeah," Pete, "but if you care less about them, it won't hurt as much when they don't come for you."

"But-" Brendon interrupted himself. "They will come," he said. "I know."

Pete shrugged. "If you think so." He got up, empty glass in his hand. "I just know that no one's ever come before."

Pete was gone before Brendon could stop him. Now it was just Brendon at their table and he was more confused than ever. He stared at the table and brooded.

They would come for Brendon, he knew that deep down. Brendon felt like he was missing a limb, being away from home and all of them. He couldn't imagine that they weren't hurting just as badly as he was. They would come for him. He ignored the little niggling doubt, the feeling of _but if they won't?_

Victoria sat down next to him. "What's on your mind?" she asked. "You're at a club, free to party, and yet you're sitting here like the world ended."

"Pete-" Brendon shook his head. "He said something and I--I can't believe it."

"You should never believe anything Pete says." Victoria grinned.

Brendon frowned at the table. "It's just. He sounded so sure."

"Now I'm curious." Victoria rested her chin on her hand and looked at Brendon.

"He said that ... that no one's going to come look for me."

Victoria sighed.

"I can't, my friends, my family, they will ..." Brendon trailed off as he saw Victoria's face. "Oh." He tried to swallow his disappointment. A little voice in the back of his mind whispered, _of course, they won't come for you. Why would they? You're just you._

Brendon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _No,_ he thought. _They love me_. But was Brendon really that important to them? Spencer had wanted Brendon to agree with his parents' wishes and get married. Perhaps he had just been waiting for a chance to get rid of Brendon and his tendency to cling? Ryan was in love and trying to woo. His past, and especially the fate of his late father, was well-known in town and he had to work hard to prove himself. Jon had a family of his own, as had most of Brendon's siblings. His parents wouldn't be able to leave the farm. Would anyone really be able to come for Brendon?

It hurt, but Brendon thought, _no, they wouldn't_. Jon would go for Cassie, but Brendon didn't have anyone like Jon. He was alone.

"Yeah," Victoria said. "People usually stop looking after a few days."

"But why?" Brendon felt lost. "Wouldn't the police keep looking?"

She snorted. "The police doesn't care enough to stop us," she said. "Seriously. We park our airship in the middle of the city. Sometimes we even pick the odd regular job to transport stuff from Los Angeles to wherever, to pay the bills. If the police wanted to find us, they could." She shrugged. "So far nobody's ever even come looking for us."

"That isn't right," Brendon said quietly.

Victoria patted his head. "Life's terribly unfair," she said in a mocking tone. Then something or rather someone at the bar caught her attention. "I'll be right back."

Brendon sat at his table quietly and contemplated. Victoria had said people didn't want to come back. That they enjoyed their new lives more than their old ones. He thought to himself how unlikely that was, when he remembered the music, Patrick's offer to teach Brendon and how fast Brendon had accepted. He felt resentment for himself, Patrick, Gabe, for everyone and the chain of events that had brought Brendon here.

He was still lost in his own thoughts, when Patrick sat down opposite him.

"You look mad," Patrick noted.

"I think I am mad." Brendon rubbed his eyes. "This is all so confusing," he admitted.

Patrick chuckled. "That, it is," he said. "But, hey, come on, I'll bring you to your room."

"My room?" Brendon blinked. Only now he noticed that the club was mostly empty now. "We're not going back to the ship?"

Patrick snorted. "Gabe's still drinking with Pete," he said. "I'd guess you're not going back to the ship for at least a week. It's been a while since Gabe visited us."

"But if I want to go back home?"

"You'll have to wait," Patrick said. "Gabe's acting only to his own schedule."

"So it's all a lie," Brendon said. "Even if I wanted to leave, I'm still stuck here."

Patrick raised an eyebrow. "Pretty sure." He waited a beat before continuing. "But if you're still undecided, what do a few days matter?"

"I--" Brendon had wanted to say _I want to go home, now_ , but then he realised it wasn't entirely true. He did want to learn those songs and home held his parents, waiting to force him into a marriage he didn't want, and suddenly the lines blurred and Brendon didn't know what he should do.

"Come on," Patrick said. "You don't have to figure that out tonight." He shrugged. "You're not going anywhere tonight."

Brendon slowly stood up. Patrick led him out of the club to the building right next to it. "This actually is a hotel," he said, "but it belongs to Pete's parents and they let us use it for our musicians."

The room was small, but the bed was comfortable. Brendon curled up on it and hoped for a restful night.

~~~***~~~

Spencer sighed relieved when the skyline of Los Angeles appeared on the horizon. Although he was grateful that he hadn't had to walk the entire way to Los Angeles, the ride had been hard on Spencer's nerves. Since Joshua had been driving, there was nothing for Spencer to do but to wait and think. Occasionally he took over the reigns for a few hours, but there was nothing to take his mind off Brendon. Now that the goal of this trip loomed over them, Spencer felt even more frantic and tense.

"I'm not going right into Los Angeles," Joshua said. "But I can drop you off at the main road and then you continue your journey from there."

"Thank you," Spencer said. He tried giving Joshua some money to pay for the trip, but Joshua had refused to take it.

"You didn't cost me any money. I'd still have had to drive home, if I had been alone. Instead I got some company. It's all good."

Spencer smiled. "I can't thank you enough, though," he said, because it was true. If he had walked, the journey would have taken much longer. And although Spencer had offered Joshua repayment, he was glad to not have lost the money--he only had a little bit left.

True to his words, Joshua stopped at the next crossing. "Here's my home town," he said, pointing east. "Los Angeles is that way."

"Good bye," Spencer said. "If we ever meet again, I'll repay you for your kindness."

Joshua laughed. "I see I won't get out of that." He waved and steered his carriage down the road. Spencer picked up his bundle and set off toward Los Angeles.

Soon he entered the first suburbs. He tried following the main road--he figured they'd lead him to the city hall. After following the road he was on for almost an hour, Spencer decided to ask for directions.

The man looked at him. "That way," he said, pointing to where Spencer had just come from. "About a mile back, then turn left."

"Thank you." Spencer followed the directions truthfully, but after another hour he had to admit that he was lost. Whenever he asked for directions, he ended up in another part of the city and people always kept sending him back. He realised that neither Summerlin nor Barstow could be compared to Los Angeles.

Spencer found the police station by pure luck. He was wandering down the street, wondering whether he should try and find an inn already, when he noticed the sign.

His heart beat fast as he entered the station. It was much bigger than the one in Summerlin or even Barstow.

"What's your business?" The policeman asked Spencer, but he didn't seem particularly interested in Spencer's answer.

"I've come to report my friend missing," Spencer started. "I think Saporta kidnapped him."

The guy gave Spencer a blank look. "Saporta? Never heard that name."

Spencer's stomach fell to his knees. "He's an airship pirate," he said numbly.

The guy shrugged. "I can file a missing person's report," he said, "but we don't have time to go looking for anyone." He pointed to a high stack of paper in the corner. "That's all missing persons," he said. "Are you sure your friend's not just left for greener pastures?"

Spencer stared. "No," he said forcefully.

"Just checking." The guy shrugged.

Spencer couldn't quite understand how he seem to care so little. "So you don't know where Saporta is?" he tried again.

Now the guy scowled at him. "Told ya, I don't know who that is. So, yeah, I don't know where he is, either." He glared. "Either you're gonna file this report or get the fuck out of my station."

Spencer took a step back, aghast and surprised. Immediately a woman came forward, pushing Spencer away.

Spencer stared open-mouthed at her behaviour, but nobody paid him any attention. Slowly he realised that this was also a dead end. He turned and left the station. Each step felt heavier and heavier.

Spencer stopped on the street. Suddenly the entire city felt even bigger than before. Brendon was here somewhere, Spencer hoped, but nobody could or would actually help him find Brendon. It was a disheartening revelation. He was exhausted and his feet hurt and his stomach was rumbling and it was growing dark and Spencer still didn't have a place to sleep tonight.

He automatically turned down the street and kept walking until he saw a sign for an inn. He stepped in and walked to the counter. An older woman smiled at him.

"Welcome to the Three Kings," she said.

"How much is a room for tonight?"

"$4 a night," she said.

Spencer blanched. He only had five dollars left in his pocket. "Are there any cheaper rooms?"

"Not here," she said.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you," Spencer said and left. He was shaky. He hadn't expected the inn to be so expensive. He realised that the inn in Barstow had only been affordable because they shared the room.

Spencer walked down the road numbly. There was another inn. They even had a sign outside proclaiming they had rooms for $3 a night. He kept walking.

Around him the houses became smaller, the streets a bit dirtier and then he finally found an inn that only wanted $2 a night. It was completely dark by now and Spencer was so exhausted he felt like crying. He took the room.

The room was dingy and cold. The sheets on the bed were scratchy and stained, but Spencer still crawled into bed. His entire body ached, and his heart ached just as much.

Now Spencer was in Los Angeles, but all his plans had turned out to be fruitless. He couldn't count on the police to help him--even if Spencer wanted to try his luck again with another station, he still didn't know how to find one. No, Spencer would have to try and find Brendon on his own.

But how, he wondered. How was he going to find Brendon in this city without any clues as to where he might be? And without anyone willing to help him?

Spencer fell asleep, exhaustion claiming him, but it was a restless night.

~~~***~~~

Brendon woke up to birds twittering loudly outside his window. At first, he couldn't remember where he was--they didn't sound any bit like the birds at home. Then he remembered.

Brendon sat up slowly in bed. He didn't want to get up, as it meant dealing with his current situation. He was hungry, though.

The hotel itself had a small dining room that led straight to the kitchen. Only Pete was already awake and he was eating in the kitchen. "Good morning," he said. "Just take whatever you want."

"Good morning." Brendon got himself some bread and cheese. Despite feeling famished, the food tasted like ash and he picked at it. When he could no longer keep himself quiet, he asked Pete, "Did you mean what you said last night?"

Pete sighed. "Listen," he said, "why would I lie to you?"

"Um," Brendon said, "to make me keep quiet?"

"We could just as well hide you in the basement," Pete pointed out. "No one would ever know you're here."

That actually was a compelling point.

Brendon prodded the cheese. "If I change my mind," he said, "and want to back later, could I go home?"

"Dude, you're free to do whatever you want." Pete shrugged. "If you don't wanna wait for Gabe to get his ass back to Los Angeles, you can just walk out of here and go to the train station or the port."

Brendon felt torn. He missed his home, his familiar routine, but ... he thought he could like this kind of life, too. At least so far nobody had demanded that he marry a girl he didn't even like just to appease God. Brendon figured that God knew whom Brendon loved and that he would be more upset if Brendon set up a fake marriage.

Brendon abruptly became aware that he was on his own now. It was scary, but Brendon also felt something akin to hope and joy. If there was nobody to order him around, Brendon could at least try to do all the things he'd always forbidden himself to want.

"I think I'll stay," he said quietly.

"All right," Pete said. When Brendon looked up at him, Pete was grinning. "Let me show you the music room."

The music room turned out to be Patrick's room in the club. Patrick looked at them.

"Here's your new student," Pete said and pushed Brendon over to Brendon. "Have fun!"

Patrick snorted. "Hi," he said. "You're staying?"

"For now," Brendon said.

Patrick patted the piano bench next to him. "Come here, I'll show you the first song."

Time flew by quickly. One day bled into two days and three days and a week, and still Brendon couldn't get enough of the music.

"No, no," Patrick said and he leant over Brendon's shoulder, putting his fingers back on the right keys. "C, F, then A."

Pete passed the room and he laughed loudly. "I should probably be jealous," he said, "that Patrick has found someone to share his musical love."

Patrick grinned and looked up at Pete. "I tried teaching you," he said, "but you were too busy looking at my mouth to actually listen."

"It's a pretty spectacular mouth," Pete said, "and the things you do with it ..." He trailed off and laughed when Brendon blushed.

The innuendos were still new to Brendon. Things like these were kept behind closed doors and not talked about publicly, he'd learned at home, and the way everyone was cheerfully mentioning sex was foreign to him.

He wondered whether it had been his upbringing alone, but his friends hadn't joked this much about sex either. He wondered whether Spencer, Ryan and Jon did joke about it, but never when Brendon was around. He didn't think they would--they always were very passionate about not letting Brendon's religious background keep him back. Ryan lectured Brendon all the time about stuff he thought Brendon should know. They wouldn't do that.

Patrick tilted his face up and Pete leaned down to kiss him. It was a sweet kiss--open-mouthed, but short, and not at all sexually charged.

Brendon looked away, though, because he couldn't stand to see the expression of love on both their faces when they broke away and grinned at each other. He felt acutely alone and it didn't help that he missed Spencer in those moments, wanted to be hugged and held and told that everything would be all right. But Spencer wasn't here. Spencer was safe at home with his family. Wondering whether he missed Brendon didn't do Brendon any good, it was just idle contemplation that only led to Brendon feeling even more love-sick.

Pete laughed when he saw Brendon looking determinedly into the other direction. "Sorry," he said, but he didn't sound the least bit sorry. "So when can I expect you to come and play for us?"

Brendon blushed again and shook his head. "I'm not good enough yet," he said, "I still have so much to learn."

Patrick grinned. "All lies," he said. "We could put him on stage tonight."

Brendon protested. "No, no, I still haven't figured out that other song you've shown me, I can't-"

"It's a deal then, you're on tonight." Pete was beaming at Brendon. Before Brendon could protest more, though, Pete left. "Sorry, have stuff to do, I'll see you tonight."

"Why did you tell him that?" Brendon whined. "You know that I'm not ready yet-"

"No, you are," Patrick interrupted him. "You have picked up everything I've taught you so fast and you've learned so much. You're just scared and if you don't just put yourself out there, you're going to always be scared."

"But that melody you showed me-"

Patrick shook his head. "There's always gonna be a new melody and a new rhythm or something else to learn."

Somehow, knowing that he'd be on stage tonight--"one song," Patrick said, "just one song and if you don't like it, that'll be it"--made time pass much faster and suddenly it was time for Brendon to prepare.

His new trousers were tight (a loan from Pete) and he felt put on display. It wasn't a bad feeling, just unfamiliar. But when Brendon thought about his trousers and the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders, he couldn't think about how he had to go out on stage in just five minutes.

"This is a mistake," he told Joe plaintively. Joe just nodded. Joe reminded Brendon of Jon, his mellow, laid-back attitude. It was only minimally comforting.

Then someone whistled behind Brendon's back. Brendon turned around to find Gabe standing there. He sighed inwardly while Gabe gave him an appraising look.

"You're looking mighty fine in that," Gabe said.

"Thank you," Brendon said. He learned that you shouldn't encourage Gabe and keep your responses short. Also having something flashy on hand to distract him with never hurt.

"Hey, Brendon, you're on," Joe said.

It turned out that Brendon was good at performing. The moment he went on stage, he forgot all about the dozens of people watching him and he just played. By the time he was done his one song, he wanted to do more, many, many more songs. He didn't want to leave the stage, wanted to stay, but he bowed down and walked down the three steps of the podium.

Brendon ran straight into Pete--he should have suspected that, he thought. Patrick was also there, though, and Brendon jumped him.

"You were good," Patrick said, and he was laughing and Brendon was laughing, too, high and giddy.

"Patrick, Patrick, Patrick," he said, "that was good, I liked that, was I really good?"

He thought he was being improper, clinging to Patrick like this, but Pete was laughing, too, loud guffaws. "That's it, you're mine," he said.

Brendon grinned. "Nope," he said, "I'm Patrick's. You said."

Pete grinned. "Right." He patted Brendon and then he leaned to whisper into Brendon's ear. "I'll always have a place for you if you want to stay."

Brendon nodded. "I know," he said. He just had to figure out what exactly he wanted to do.

Pete brushed a kiss against Patrick's cheek. "I'll see you later," he said.

When Brendon went to the bar, everyone bought him a drink. He didn't accept all of them, but he still ended up being beyond tipsy and well on his way to just plainly drunk.

Pete came back from whatever he'd been doing and draped himself over Patrick. "It's a fucking great night," he said. He was pushing his hand inside Patrick's shirt, but nobody seemed to mind, Patrick least of all. Patrick was usually quick to rebuff Pete, give him a "later, when we're home and alone, asshole", but right now he just tilted his face up and kissed Pete back.

It tugged at Brendon's heartstrings and he had to look away. He was kind of really drunk by now, and he felt bit maudlin (he had a really fucking awesome night and he wished his friends could be there, because they, Spencer, would understand how much this meant to him and just--they weren't here) and he missed everyone (Spencer) a lot. Unfortunately this resulted in him looking at Gabe. Gabe who was grinning at Brendon way too knowingly.

Brendon looked away from him, which meant looking back at Pete and Patrick. They were smiling at each other, little knowing smiles that worked entirely without words. Brendon wanted that, he wanted someone to look at him like that, someone to understand him without Brendon even having to say anything.

He couldn't stand to look at them any longer, jealous of what they had and unable to really hate them for it. Brendon looked down, frowned at his beer as if it held the solution to all his problems.

Brendon startled when Gabe grabbed his arm.

"Hey, little man," Gabe said, "come and dance with me."

The entire table laughed and people parted to let them through. Brendon stumbled after Gabe, the height difference and his drunkenness not working in his favour.

"What?" he asked Gabe. Gabe was holding him awfully close, almost indecently. Brendon was worn down and not in the mood for any of Gabe's games.

"What about him?" Gabe gestured at a young man dancing alone. "He's hot, don't you think?"

Brendon blinked. "Yes?" He had no idea what Gabe had in mind. "I guess so?"

"Hot enough for you?"

"I, what?" Brendon stumbled over his own feet, cursed, and he was only saved from falling on his ass by Gabe holding him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Gabe hummed. "I see how you look at Pete and Patrick," he said. "And Victoria said you had a sweetheart at home. I figured you're being lonely."

"He's not my sweetheart," Brendon said fervently. Gabe was dancing him around in little circles and it made Brendon dizzy enough that he didn't dare to push away from Gabe. "He's just my friend, it's not like that."

Gabe shrugged. "That makes it easier," he said. "So what about that guy?"

"What about him?" Was the Earth already revolving this fast before? Brendon was pretty sure it didn't use to.

"Well, do you wanna fuck him or not?"

Brendon was so surprised that he stopped dead in the middle of turning, almost causing them both to tumble to the ground. People around them glared at them, but he didn't pay them any heed. "What?"

"You're lonely," Gabe said. He sounded much too amused for Brendon's liking. "Your _friend_ 's not here, so ... Would that guy do?"

"I don't, I'm not-" Brendon took a deep breath. "I don't," he repeated and then he pushed away from Gabe. He forced himself to smile. "Thank you for your concern," he said, and ignored Gabe frowning at him. "But I can't do that."

Gabe looked at him puzzled. "But why?" He pointed to their table. "Nobody will mind."

"I will," Brendon said. He didn't know how to express that it would feel like cheating if he gave himself away like that. He only ever desired one person in his life. He knew that most of his ... new friends would think him completely old-fashioned and naive if they knew that he was holding out for his one true love.

Brendon should perhaps just accept that it wasn't meant to be, but it didn't feel right.

"I'm sorry," Brendon said. "I'll just." He pointed to the backstage door. "I'll just get some fresh air," he finished lamely.

Outside it was cold and Brendon leaned against the building, although the wall was damp. The cold creeped into his bones.

Brendon felt so tired suddenly. He'd been enjoying himself here, with only occasional bouts of home-sickness. He thought it was probably telling that he missed Spencer more than his family, although he tried to not think about home at all.

Brendon did miss home, but he couldn't quite silence the voice in his mind that said it was better this way, with Brendon being away. They would all forget about him and continue with their lives. Brendon wouldn't have to disappoint his parents by refusing to marry or by marrying the wrong person, meaning not a woman. He wouldn't have to see Spencer getting married, wouldn't have to pretend he was happy for his friend when his heart was breaking.

Brendon's breath came out as a small cloud each time he exhaled. He watched it evaporate as he told himself firmly that this was better than the alternative. If Brendon stayed away, they would assume him to be dead. He thought, or hoped rather, that they would be sad for a while, but then they could move on. Brendon was sparing them all a lot of hurt by not returning.

Brendon thought that maybe, one day, he could even believe himself.

~~~***~~~

In the morning the situation didn't look any better. The sun was rising slowly and Spencer ate most of his remaining provisions while he watched out of his window. He couldn't see much, just the progress of the shadows withdrawing while the sun rose higher and higher.

He didn't know how he was supposed to go on. Soon he would have to buy more food, but even without that he could hardly afford to stay in an inn tonight.

Spencer shoved all those thoughts out of his mind. Worrying about money wouldn't bring Brendon back to him. He should be concentrating on figuring out where he could get information on Saporta. He decided that the innkeeper would be as good a starting point as any.

"Saporta?" she asked. "What a strange name. Never heard of it."

Spencer tried to hide his disappointment. He smiled and thanked her.

"What's his business?"

"Uhm." Spencer didn't think he could say _he's a pirate_. Instead he settled for, "he owns an airship."

"Then I'd start looking for him at the docks," she said. "There are a few pubs there where the captains hang out. It's a rough area, though," she warned him. "Take care of yourself."

"Thank you," Spencer said and this time it was heart-felt.

While he walked to the docks, Spencer thought that it seemed so logical and he was angry at himself for not having thought of it himself. Saporta had to keep his ship somewhere in the city. Why hadn't he thought of it himself?

At least the docks turned out to be easy to find. Spencer just had to follow the airships flying over their heads, when the directions he got didn't make sense to him.

The docks were busy, swarming with people, noisy and dirty. There were dozens of pubs, spread all over the area. Spencer steeled himself and entered the first one.

"I'm looking for Gabe Saporta," he said. "Do you know where he is?"

The pub owner shrugged. "Don't know, don't care." He squinted at Spencer. "What wrong's he done to you?"

Spencer startled. "Why do you think he's done me some wrong?"

"Why else would you come looking for him?"

Spencer didn't have a good answer for that. The few people in the pub looked at him. Spencer felt flushed and uncomfortable. "I'm sorry to have bothered you," he said and quickly left.

Even the warm sunshine couldn't dispel the cold feeling running down Spencer's spine. He became acutely aware that he didn't know how to deal with these people.

Spencer sighed. He would have just to learn how to play it safe here, he thought. He had to find Brendon and this was the best lead he had.

Spencer entered the next pub, intent on not making a fool out of himself this time.

"Have you seen Saporta?" he asked.

"Nah, haven't seen him in weeks," the guy at the bar answered. Spencer's heart jumped in his chest and he had to clamp down on his excitement.

"Hm," Spencer said. He took stock of the pub. It was dirty, not terribly well up-kept. What could Saporta want here?

"Last I heard," the guy continued, "he was asking for work in Jensen's pub."

"Jensen?"

"The Southern Comfort," the guy answered.

Spencer nodded.

In the Southern Comfort he'd learned that Gabe was in Los Angeles, but whoever that Jensen guy was, he wasn't around and Spencer didn't dare to ask the beefy guy manning the bar if he knew where Saporta's ship lay.

It was just as well that he hadn't asked, as the people in the next pub told him that Saporta had left the city weeks ago.

"But where is he now?" Spencer asked.

The bartender shrugged. "Could be anywhere," he said.

"I heard he was headed North," someone said.

Spencer felt dizzy with dread and disappointment. "North?" he repeated. "Any idea where exactly?"

The guy shrugged. "Many cities up North."

"Could be San Francisco," someone piped up. "I heard he's going there often."

"Nah," someone else chimed in. "That's Chicago."

"Fuck you both," another guy yelled. "I heard Seattle."

Spencer realised that he wasn't getting any more coherent information here. He thanked them and left.

Outside the sun was shining brightly. Noon had come and gone, and Spencer still wasn't any wiser. Instead of no location, he now had three different ones.

Spencer decided to leave the docks. He still had to find accommodation for the night, and he had a feeling that he'd gleaned all the information he could from the dock workers.

As he walked back to the docks' entrance, he decided to check out the captaincy office. If Saporta had debarked here, they would have to know.

Unfortunately the clerk wasn't very cooperative.

"Can't tell you that," he said.

"But is he here right now?" Spencer pressed. "Surely you're allowed to tell me that?"

"He isn't," the clerk replied shortly. "You must leave now."

Away from the bustling sidewalks of the docks, the city seemed almost tranquil. Spencer found a park and he sat down under a large tree. He had to decide what to do next, but the fact that he had almost no money left weighed heavy on his mind. Even if he knew where to go, he didn't think he could afford transportation there.

Spencer wasn't quite sure how far San Francisco or Chicago were away from Los Angeles, but he assumed he would have to go by train at the very least. The railways weren't as expensive anymore since airships became mass transportation, but they were still not cheap.

With a sinking feeling, Spencer realised that for the moment he was stuck in Los Angeles. He couldn't even count on getting a ride back to Summerlin and much less on getting a free ride again. He couldn't even afford to go home.

He needed to earn money, but he didn't know how. He was a good clocksmith--even Mr Wilson said so, and he was notoriously hard on his apprentices and journeymen. But his certification was still in Summerlin. Of all the things Spencer thought he might need, his letter of certification wasn't among them. Without it, it was difficult to find a job as a clocksmith: who would be desperate enough to hire someone without proof of their education?

As Spencer sat on the green, someone walked by and whistled at him. Spencer looked up, taken aback. An old sailor was giving him an appraising look.

"Hi sugar," he said, and Spencer wanted to protest, ask how he could dare to be so utterly familiar with Spencer, but then the man went on to say: "How much?"

Spencer couldn't make head nor tails of it. "How much of what?"

The guy chuckled. "How much for an hour of your time?" He eyed Spencer in a way that made Spencer uncomfortable, like he was able to see underneath Spencer's clothes.

Spencer realised what exactly was being asked of him and turned pale. "You're mistaken," he said, "I'm not, I'm not like ... that."

The guy shrugged. "Well, I figured you're either new or not. Couldn't hurt to try." He gave Spencer another look, almost like he was sad to be missing out on Spencer, and despite the fact he was still fully clothed, Spencer felt naked and used. "Since you're not, I'll give you a tip: there aren't many people who're not hookers hanging around in this part of town."

Spencer nodded. As soon as the sailor had turned away and gone down the path leading through the park, Spencer got up and hurried away. After this incident the park didn't seem as calm and nice anymore, and Spencer left at the next exit. He didn't pay any attention to where he was going and he ended up in a completely different part of town than this morning. It was a little bit less clean, but there were more people around, especially people in workman's clothes.

Spencer's heart jumped when he recognised the familiar sign of a clocksmithy. What could it hurt to ask, he thought.

The shop was busy, and it took a while for Spencer to get hold of someone. "I would like to talk to the master," he said.

"That would be me," a burly guy said.

"I was wondering whether you were hiring," Spencer asked.

The guy snorted. "We don't need nobody," he said and turned immediately to the next person in line.

Spencer left feeling dejected. He would just have to keep trying, he thought.

Unfortunately it turned out that finding a job seemed as futile as finding information on Saporta. The few places that actually considered Spencer were all asking for his certification.

"I'm sorry," one woman told Spencer, "but I can't hire you without certification." Spencer smiled and thanked her nonetheless. She did sent him to another shop. "They were looking for someone last month," she said. "Perhaps you'll get lucky there."

Spencer walked down the road in search of the new smithy. There were many more clocksmithies than he'd expected.

In Summerlin there were only Mr Wilson and Mr Hoppes, and it had been that way already before Spencer had been born.

Mr Hoppes only had one journeyman working for him, Brendon. There wasn't a huge demand for music instruments or toys, something Brendon occasionally regretted.

"I like fixing up their old toys," he had told Spencer once while they had been walking home. "I love the way the kids' eyes light up when I hand them their toy back. It doesn't matter to them that the cloth's worn and that the coating's scratched. I love knowing I'm giving them back something they love and that they cherish." Brendon had kicked around a lose stone. "Sometimes I wish, though, I could build something new," he had added quietly enough that Spencer had had to lean in close to hear him.

"Someday you will," Spencer had said and bumped Brendon's shoulder. "Someday you'll build brand new instruments and people will love you for handing them something they're going to love." His voice had broken slightly on the traitorous little word--only four letters and still so troublesome--, but Brendon hadn't seemed to notice. He'd smiled at Spencer, that shy little _I'm glad you're my friend_ smile that made Spencer's heart jump in his chest and made him want to reach out and take Brendon's hand. He hadn't, though.

The memory made Spencer sad, but it also refuelled his energy. He wished he'd been braver, with and for Brendon. Now he just wanted Brendon back, wanted to know that he was safe and happy.

He tried one more smithy, but was rejected again. It had been his last chance tonight because soon after the shops started closing one by one.

Spencer wandered the streets, wondering where he would sleep tonight. He'd been checking the prices of the inns. They were all cheaper than the one he stayed in last night--bad luck, he thought, that he ended up in the more upscale part of the city on his first night here--, but still too expensive.

He found another park and sat down on a bench, mentally and physically exhausted. He leaned back and looked at the night sky. Should he go home?

Spencer'd never been completely on his own before. He'd always had his family and his friends. Now he was lonely and scared and out of his depth. The last time he'd slept under the open sky it had been summer and they'd had a bonfire, one of the few times Brendon had joined them. Brendon had pulled Spencer down and pointed out all the constellations on the sky.

"My grandfather taught me," he'd said. "He had all these maps and when I was little, he'd wake me up at night and look at the stars with me."

They had fallen asleep tangled up together.

This night, Spencer thought, would not be nearly as pleasant as that one.

Spencer wondered whether he should just stay on his bench, when a policeman walked up to him.

"May I help you?" the policeman asked. He looked at Spencer, at his bundle to his feet, and gave him a look. "Loitering's forbidden in the park," he said.

Spencer stumbled over his words. "I was just about to leave," he said, and thought _please, please don't arrest me_. "I was just resting a bit."

"Hm," the policeman said. "Where are you headed?"

"I don't have a place to stay tonight yet," Spencer admitted. Honesty was usually the better policy when dealing with the police. "I still have to find an inn ..." He stopped, because he didn't want to say _an inn I can afford_ , but the policeman seemed to understand him anyway.

"There's a church," he said, "a few blocks from here. They take in people for the night."

"Thank you," Spencer said and he listened carefully to the directions.

The church loomed over him, large and dark. If Spencer had had a choice, he would have left, but he didn't have one, so he didn't. A young man opened the door. He didn't even ask for Spencer's name, just took in his tired face and rumpled clothing, and opened the door wide.

"My name's Steven," he said. "You're lucky, we still have one bed free."

It was a room with eight beds, but Spencer didn't mind. It was better than sleeping on the ground under open air. He slept with his belongings next to him under the covers, but everyone else did, too.

The next morning Spencer was the first one to leave. He came across Steven who was talking to an older man.

"Good morning," Spencer greeted them.

"Good morning," Steven said. "This is Reverend Sheppard."

"It's nice to meet you," Spencer said.

Sheppard smiled. "I'm happy to provide shelter for those who need it." He shook Spencer's hand. "Don't hesitate to come back," he added. "This city can be cruel to any who aren't accustomed to its ways."

"Thank you," Spencer said. When he stepped outside, he felt energetic. Even if he failed to find either a job or Brendon today, at least he had a place to sleep tonight.

The search for a job seemed just as futile today, though, as it was yesterday. Spencer stopped in every shop that had a _help wanted_ sign--even when he had no idea what the shop's business was.

In the afternoon, when his feet hurt and he was almost convinced he'd never find a job, he came across a small smithy. The shop window was dirty and the display chaotic, but Spencer recognised some of the items as top-end quality. He stared at one of the electric lights displayed, trying to figure out whether it used one of the regular switches or if Spencer really was seeing a double-ended switch there, which made the ordinary lamp a really interesting specimen: the double-ended switch could carry high voltages and was more robust, but you'd have to change the entire lamp to use it.

Suddenly the door opened and a short guy with dark hair jumped out. He was wearing a work coat, but what Spencer initially thought to be a shirt were really tattoos covering both his arms. "Either you come in or you leave," he said, "but the way you've been staring at our display makes Gerard nervous."

Spencer startled. "I'm sorry," he said, "but that lamp-"

"Oh, fuck, another admirer of the lamp," the guy sighed. "You better come in, Gee's gonna love you."

He took Spencer's arm and pulled him into the shop. Inside it was dark and Spencer's eyes needed a moment to adjust to the change from the bright daylight. The shop was packed with random paraphernalia of all sorts. There seemed to be no system to the shelves: Spencer saw a lamp next to an electric knife, with a tea kettle right above them and a clock ticking steadily on the shelf underneath.

"I'm Frank, by the way," the guy said. "Gee's in there." Frank pushed Spencer into the back room which turned out to be the work shop. Here there were light, large windows under the roof letting in the sun light.

"Sorry," Spencer stuttered when the man working on a huge lantern obviously startled. "But Frank-"

"He wants to know about the lamp," Frank said. Then he went back to the shop proper.

"I'm Spencer. I'm a clocksmith," Spencer explained. "I saw the lamp and wondered ..."

Half an hour later, Gerard had explained to Spencer how he had modified the inner workings of the lamp to include the new switch. Spencer was fascinated.

"But doesn't that mean you had to built up the entire plate by scratch?"

Gerard nodded, already distracted by a note. From what Spencer could see, it seemed to read _sugar_ and _lotms_ and _34123_ , which didn't make any sense to Spencer, but Gerard sprang into action.

"Um, you're busy," Spencer said. He felt silly for stating the obvious, but it had been Frank who'd basically thrown Spencer at Gerard. "I should leave."

"We're always busy," Frank said. He was leaning against the door.

Spencer's heart beat fast. "You wouldn't be looking for help, would you?"

Frank shrugged. "That's Gee's call."

Gerard snorted. "I'd like to hire someone," he said. "But we are, uh-"

"Special," Frank supplied.

Gerard sighed. "We're not," he told Spencer, "it's just, I work long hours and occasionally I forget to eat-"

"And to bathe," Frank said. "You're way less likely to forget to eat. Also the not bathing is more often a deal breaker."

"And it's been difficult to find someone willing to work under those conditions," Gerard continued blithely.

"Um," Spencer said. He was quite fond of Gerard, had grown to like his humour and enthusiasm in the short time they'd spent together. "I don't mean to be overly friendly, but ... I'm a clocksmith."

Gerard positively beamed and Spencer felt himself reply in kind.

"You can start right away," Gerard said. "I pay well, $20 a week, and you get one day off. How does that sound?"

"That sounds wonderful," Spencer said.

"Um, you'll get your wage once a month," Gerard said. "Oh, and you can live with us." He pointed to the ceiling. "Frank and I live upstairs, and we have some rooms for journeymen and shit. It's only a small room, though."

"I don't mind," Spencer said. The entire exchange felt surreal and he couldn't quite believe it was actually happening. "Thank you so much."

"All right then," Gerard said and he turned back to his workpiece. "I have to go back to work, though."

"Oops, I should probably clean your room," Frank said. "Um, can you go and be someplace else for two hours?"

Spencer left the shop in a daze. He walked back to the church in a trance.

"Did something happen?" the reverend asked Spencer when he walked in.

"I found a job," Spencer said and only now it really sunk in. "I have a job," he repeated.

"Congratulations!" Sheppard shook Spencer's hand. "I think you'll settle in fine in L.A.," he said. "Many young men who come here for work are at first overwhelmed by the city, but you've found your feet quickly."

"Thank you," Spencer said. Sheppard's words jarred. Spencer hadn't come to find his luck in Los Angeles--he'd come to find Brendon. Spencer was settling for less right now.

It was pointless to be angry, though. He was stuck in Los Angeles for at least a month, until he got paid.

Spencer still had time before he had to be back at the clocksmithy, so when he passed a train station, he ducked inside. He inquired for the costs of train tickets to San Francisco and Chicago. He figured Seattle would be in-between the two.

"$8 for San Francisco," the girl at the counter told him, "$40 to Chicago."

"Thank you." Spencer left the station on shaky knees. He had hoped the tickets were cheaper. He would be able to afford San Francisco easily, but then he still didn't know whether he's on the right track. Travelling to all the cities on his list would eat up most of his wage.

Spencer passed by the post station on his way back to the clocksmithy. He stopped and contemplated the door. He would stay here for a while--should he contact his parents and let them know he was all right? He decided not to--he'd rather wait until he had knew Brendon's whereabout. They would just try to convince him to come home. He could always write them a letter next week and send it off.

When Spencer arrived at the clocksmithy, he had decide to stay at least one week. He also had to try and figure out where Gabe had really gone.

Frank greeted him. "Hey, your room's ready!" He led Spencer up to the private part of the building.

The room was small, but warm.

"I cannot thank you enough," Spencer told Frank.

Frank grinned. "Just wait until Gerard doesn't bathe for a month," he said. "Then you won't thank us anymore."

Spencer laughed, startling himself. "We will see."

Frank left him alone. And for the first time since Spencer had left his parent's house more than a week ago, he felt like he was home again.

~~~***~~~

Brendon settled into a routine at A&K. He woke up late, ate breakfast alone and then played whichever instrument he wanted to. In the evening they all hung out at the club, either performing or just listening.

Brendon felt like he was fitting in perfectly here, and it seemed like he'd made the right decision in staying. But after two weeks, when the novelty of being on his own had worn off, when he'd become comfortable within his new routine, when Patrick said for the first time, "oh, we already talked about that, right?", when the frantic pace of learning new songs slowed down, right then Brendon started to think about his family again.

He was just on his way to the music room when he happened across Gabe. Gabe was lying on the floor, still wearing last night's clothes, lipstick smeared on his cheek. Brendon considered him for a moment before he sat down on the floor next to Gabe's legs. He prodded until Gabe growled at him.

"How do you know no one ever went home?" Brendon asked. He figured now was as good a time as any.

Gabe blinked at him, then shrugged. "Bob fell in love with a girl and married her. I think Eric went somewhere East."

Brendon nodded. "And the other people?"

"Which other people?" Gabe sat up slowly, rubbed his eyes and stretched.

"All the other people you ... took," Brendon said. "What did they do?"

Gabe sat very still and Brendon suddenly felt cold. Gabe didn't look at Brendon.

"Gabe," Brendon said firmly. "What about the other people?"

"There are no other people."

"What?" Brendon blinked and shook his head. "But you said ..." He fell quiet, when he realised the implications. "But you said no one ever wanted to go home!" Brendon was aware that he was speaking loudly. "You said it like it was true."

"Well, it was true." Gabe shrugged and got up.

"For two people!" Brendon felt cold and sick. "I believed you," he said.

"And I didn't tell you any lies." Gabe offered his hand to pull Brendon up. Reluctantly Brendon took it.

"But what if they're worried about me?" Brendon asked. "What if they did look for me?"

Gabe sighed. "Well, now you have to decide what to do." He seemed chagrined after all, and Brendon couldn't find the will to be very mad at him. He let Gabe go and wondered down the hallway.

Brendon did what was his usual routine when he didn't know how to go on: he found Patrick. He'd become something like Brendon's mentor in the last few weeks, between teaching him about songs and about life.

"I need to contact them," Brendon told Patrick. "They must be so worried."

"Who?"

"My parents," Brendon said. "My friends." _Spencer_ , he thought. "I've been gone for so long, they must be worried out of their minds."

He felt guilty for leaving them in the dark. He wondered whether they thought he was dead, would never return.

Patrick hummed quietly. "You could send them a telegraph," he said. "Just to let them know you're all right."

"I could?" Brendon had never gotten or sent a telegraph before. Sometimes the sheriff got one, he knew, but most people never received one. His grandmother had once talked about the war, how telegraphs had only meant bad news back then. He'd never even considered.

"Yeah," Patrick said. He stopped playing. "Do you want to?"

"Yes," Brendon said. It was the least he could do, let them know he was still alive. And if Gabe had been right after all, that they didn't want Brendon, he could still stay in Chicago.

"Well, then you should write your message and then we'll go to the post office," Patrick said.

Despite knowing exactly what he wanted to say ( _I'm all right_ and _sorry, I'm not coming home_ ), it still took Brendon over an hour to finalise his message.

"Don't write anything too long," Patrick said. "You pay by the word." He squinted at Brendon's message.

"Um," Brendon said. "I think I could shorten this a bit?"

"Tell them to write you a letter," Patrick suggested. "You can give the address of the club."

"That's a really good idea," Brendon said.

One hour later, he was finally at the post office. The transaction was quick and somewhat disappointing. Brendon only had to give the clerk his message, the post office they were calling and then he paid.

Patrick had come with him and he dragged Brendon away from the counter. "I wanted to ask how long until I could expect an answer," Brendon protested.

Patrick shook his head. "He won't know," he said. "It depends on when your family's going to reply."

The next day Brendon was up early and waited for the post. But no reply came. Neither the next day or the day after--after a week of waiting, Brendon said to Patrick, "I guess they must've written a letter."

Patrick smiled gently. "They must have," he agreed.

Brendon smiled back and told himself that they would answer. Maybe they were just surprised that he wasn't coming back. Maybe they were even coming to Chicago themselves, to pick him up. He settled in and waited.

Gabe tried to hook up Brendon a few more times until Brendon made Pete talk to Gabe. "He's not listening to me," Brendon told Pete. "And I just ..." He shrugged. "I'm not ready yet."

"It's all right," Pete said and he clapped his hand around Brendon's shoulder. "We all need time to adjust."

After a few more weeks of no contact, Brendon started worrying. "I still haven't received word," he told Patrick. "Do you think my telegraph was lost? Or their letter?"

"Brendon," Patrick said gently, "maybe they didn't send a reply."

"But why?" Brendon played a quick scale on the piano.

Patrick sighed. "So many reasons," he said.

"I hoped," Brendon started, but stopped.

"I know," Patrick said.

Brendon started playing the saddest song he knew, about a cowboy who had lost everything. Patrick put his arm around Brendon's shoulder and stayed for the entire song.

The next day Brendon noticed the date. He went about his routine as usual, making sure to smile and laugh as he normally would, but the smiles hurt and his laughter was louder, more annoying, and he felt skittish all day. Finally he sought refuge at the piano. He ran through a few songs, pretending to be practising when he was trying to avoid everyone.

Patrick sat down next to him. "Hey," he said. "What's going on?"

Brendon shrugged. "Nothing," he said.

The song morphed into another one.

"It's my birthday soon," Brendon said.

Patrick hugged him.

Brendon stopped playing and leaned against Patrick. "I miss my family," he said. "And my friends," he added. It was really the other way round. He was still upset over his last fight with his parents and his siblings had been absent lately, busy with their own lives. He regretted his fight with Spencer more than the one with his parents.

"Brendon?" Patrick asked softly.

Brendon stared at the ivory and ebony keys in front of him. "I miss my home," he said quietly. "I think I want to go home."

He held his breath, afraid of how Patrick was going to react.

"I see," was all Patrick said. He didn't push Brendon away, instead pulled him in close and hugged him tight. "I understand," he said, and Brendon sank against him relieved.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know you've been good to me and--"

"Don't be," Patrick said. "I really do understand." He pointed at the club. "I've lived here my entire life," he said. "My parents only live half an hour away. I've known Pete since I was 15. It must be hard being so far away from everything you know." He squeezed Brendon. "I do hope you'll come back and visit us, though. We're gonna miss you, you know."

"I need to make sure that they ..." Brendon stumbled over his words. "Can I come back?" he asked instead. "If it turns out that they ... can I come back?"

"Always," Patrick said, and that at least was a start.

"Thank you," Brendon said. He hoped Gabe was as understanding.

It turned out that Gabe frankly didn't give a shit. Brendon found him at the bar. "I'd like you to please bring me back home," he said.

Gabe just asked, "are you sure?"

"I can't bear the thought that they're grieving for me," he said. "I need to make sure they know that I'm alive." _I don't want Spencer to be sad_ , he thought. Just to hug him one last time and make that count. Tell him that it wasn't any of his fault and that Brendon had long forgiven and forgotten their fight. More than anything, he wanted Spencer to know that Brendon was all right.

Gabe shrugged. "It's your decision. We were going to head back soon any way."

Pete sighed. "And there goes another one." He nudged Brendon. "I can't let you leave without a party," he grinned. "It wouldn't be good form to just let you go without any further ado."

"You just want a reason to get drunk," Brendon said.

"Nope," Pete said. "I don't need a reason to drink."

Pete cuffed Brendon's shoulder. "Better prepare for your show tonight," he said. "Gotta make it count since it'll be your last one."

Brendon laughed, relieved. "I better make sure I know my songs then."

The club opened at the usual time. Brendon thought that it was weird that the night felt so normal. Now that he had finally made the decision to go back home, he could hardly wait for it. He thought of going home, seeing his family again, being able to hug them, and he smiled. He'd missed all of them, even Summerlin. Chicago was big and exciting, but also scarier than Brendon was used to. He closed his eyes and pretended he was home already. He was leaning against the big tree just outside the churchyard, waiting for Spencer and the others to come, so they could go to the carnival. Spencer came, alone, and he smiled at Brendon, opening his arms wide. "I missed you," he said. "Life wasn't the same without you." Brendon hugged him and just ... forgot to let go.

"Having happy thoughts?"

Brendon opened his eyes. For a moment he was disoriented--he couldn't quite remember where he was until he became aware that he'd been leaning against the wall just out of reach of the backstage door, probably smiling like a lunatic at nothing in particular.

"Um," Brendon said.

Patrick laughed at him. He wrapped one arm around Brendon's shoulders and pulled him in close. "Just promise me one thing," he said. "This guy you're going home for-"

"I'm not," Brendon started, but Patrick just kept talking.

"This guy you're going home for, tell him how you feel, all right?" He squeezed Brendon. "Just tell him, take that risk." Patrick smiled gently. "Make sure that he at least knows why you came home."

"But I," Brendon started. He couldn't repeat the lie, though.

"You're not going home to see your parents," Patrick said. "You're going home to see him, and I understand that. Just, don't let him get away because you're afraid."

Joe walked by. "You're on in five," he said.

"We'll be there," Patrick said. He looked at Brendon one last time. "Promise me?"

"I will," Brendon said. "I promise."

But when they went into the club, it was dark. Brendon stopped. "What's going on?"

Then the lights went on and Brendon blinked, momentarily blinded. There was a banner proclaiming _Good bye! Come back soon, Brendon!_ and the tables were decorated and the club was empty except for everyone he knew and ...

"You threw a party for me?" Brendon asked surprised. Brendon had expected his goodbye party to be a few beers after the club closed, not this.

"Tonight it's just us," Pete said. He jumped from the chair he'd been standing on. He gathered Brendon up in a bear hug.

"But the club-"

Pete laughed. "People will come back tomorrow," he said. "And they will talk about how they couldn't get in tonight and tomorrow they'll just be even more curious. Don't worry, it'll work out."

Brendon laughed with him.

"Go on stage then," Pete told him. "Tonight you get to play whatever you want."

Brendon played his favourite songs, fast and loud, to get the party going. Joe kept bringing him beer, and soon Brendon was pleasantly tipsy.

"Your husband is awesome," he told Patrick during a short break.

"Yeah, he is," Patrick said smiling.

Brendon set down his beer. He watched Patrick smile at Pete, who was laughing loudly with Gabe and Andy. "I'll play a song for you both," he said quietly. When he started playing the first bars of a love song Patrick had taught him the other week, Patrick leaned in and kissed his temple.

"You're a good kid," he said and then he wandered over to Pete, letting himself be wrapped up in a hug.

Brendon closed his eyes and just played. With his eyes closed, it was easy to pretend he was home, sitting at his parents' piano or, even better, at Spencer's parents' upright. Brendon had tried to teach Spencer how to play better, but it had always ended with Spencer listening to Brendon play. Now he imagined they were back in Spencer's parents' living room, Spencer sitting almost indecently close to Brendon, and Brendon, he was singing this song, full of love and longing. He hoped he'd find the courage to hold his promise to Patrick, to tell Spencer. He hoped Spencer would feel the same.

One love song segued into another, as Brendon wished and hoped and longed. As much as he was looking forward to going home, he was also terrified, of rejection, disappointing his parents. But in his mind he could see Spencer smiling at him.

Brendon sang until he was hoarse, his voice breaking, and Patrick made him stop. "I'm going to miss Chicago," Brendon said quietly.

Pete hugged him tightly. "We'll miss you, too," he said in the slight slur he had when he was drunk.

It was a good night. Brendon had quite realised how close he'd become to all of these people--there were dozens of hugs and Brendon had to promise a dozen people to come back, even if it was just to visit.

After everything was said and done, he felt wistful. Leaving Chicago felt like leaving home. He couldn't stop touching the walls of the building as he walked back to his room. "I'm going to miss you," he told his door and his window and the old comforter on his bed.

The next morning came earlier and brighter than Brendon had thought. "I will never drink again," he told Andy, when he'd made his way down into the kitchen.

Andy snorted. "I told you not to drink anything Pete hands you," he said. "You should've learned that by now."

Brendon thought he was getting up terribly late, so he hurriedly ate his breakfast. "I still have to pack," he told Andy. "I can't believe how much stuff I have."

Brendon had felt badly about Pete and Patrick giving him stuff, but they had shrugged it off. "We pay the others," Pete'd said. "Consider this your payment."

Brendon practically ran up to his room after breakfast. Gabe wouldn't leave without him, no, he didn't think so, but seriously he had so much stuff ...

Brendon filled two duffel bags and one suitcase. He looked at the pile frowning, then at his clock. It was already past noon.

Gabe turned up half an hour later. "Lemme get coffee and then we're gonna leave," he said. Brendon kept pacing the foyer, running over to the kitchen frequently. He didn't want to annoy Gabe, but he was so beyond ready to leave.

"Ready to go?" Victoria asked Brendon. He just nodded. "Then let's."

The drive back to the ship was uneventful, except for how Brendon couldn't sit still at all. Nobody commented on it, though. He only relaxed once they were all on board.

Ryland was mapping out their route. "Let's get you home," he said to Brendon, just before they took off.

Brendon's heart grew lighter and lighter as they reached their cruising altitude and flew to the South. "Home," he whispered, and he thought _Spencer_.

~~~***~~~

When Spencer woke up, the house was still quiet. In the early morning hours, his new surroundings felt even more foreign. Spencer sighed and rubbed his face. He could admit to himself that it felt strange to be here and work instead of being out there and looking for Brendon. He could rationalise his actions, but he still felt bad about abandoning Brendon.

 _Don't be silly_ , he told himself. It was just no use to dwell on things he couldn't change. Spencer made himself get up. He felt refreshed after washing his face, and by the time he was fully dressed he felt like he was ready for the day.

His first day started quietly. Frank pointed him to a work station. "Uhm, you probably should clean that up a little," he said.

Spencer stared at the small place, cluttered up with random tools and parts of all sizes. "You think so," he said.

"Welcome to Gee's shop," Frank said. He clapped Spencer's shoulder. "Clean that up and then I'll throw some work your way."

Spencer was struck by the image of Frank literally throwing stuff at him. "Please don't," he said.

Frank sighed. "No one ever lets me have any fun."

Spencer managed to get his space clear in only half an hour. He was just rubbing down the top with alcohol, removing a few suspicious stains, when Frank dumped a box filled with random items right next to him.

"Fix those," Frank said. "They're totally overdue. Weeks actually."

Mr Wilson had been proud that he could return any item repaired within one week. Spencer gingerly picked up the box and started rooting through it. "What's broken?" he asked about a lamp that seemed superficially intact.

"Dude," Frank said, "as if we'd still know by now." He shrugged. "Have fun figuring it out!" Then he bounded away, back into the shop. Gerard's brother Mikey was here today, which always led to a large number of older women dropping off food at the shop. "I think he appeals to their maternal instincts or some shit," Frank said. "Like they think he's gonna starve if they don't feed him. We don't care, but it means we get free pie."

Spencer blinked. "I see," he said, although he really didn't. Mikey was thin, but being a friend of Ryan Ross, Spencer didn't think he'd deserved all that food. Back in Summerlin nobody but Spencer's parents had ever felt the need to give Ryan any food.

In the Way household, however, pie was not something to be trifled with, Spencer found out.

The box of random gimmicks seemed endless or, rather, there seemed to be an endless supply of boxes. Spencer steadily worked his way through the box, only to find that new items had been thrown into the box.

"How do you even still know who these belong to?" he asked Ray, when he dropped a broken heater next to Spencer.

"We do have lists," Ray said. "I know what's been here for how long." He pointed at Frank and Gerard, now discussing a detail of Gerard's newest project. "They don't."

Spencer made the mental note to just ask the clerk, Ray, whenever he needed some business-related information. He stretched and winced at the sound of his joints popping. He tried to work through lunch, taken aback by the sheer amount of work, but Gerard had dragged him away. "The boxes will still be here in half an hour." Spencer envied Gerard his peace of mind.

For the remainder of the afternoon Frank helped Spencer to put the repaired items with the original receipts. It was nice work.

"Do you mind me asking why you have so many customers when you keep their stuff for ages?" Spencer asked.

Frank shrugged. "Gee's good at coming up with new solutions. They come here and hope he'll be able to work a miracle. Usually they don't even need them, but most people don't get how clockwork arrangements work."

The next day Frank gave Spencer a new box. "That pile," he said, "is stuff for the orphanage."

"Orphanage?" Spencer echoed. He looked closer at the box and found an odd assortment of toys.

"Yeah, Alicia's running it. You should probably work on those first."

Spencer nodded. "How can she afford to pay for the repairs?" he asked. "Some of these are very complicated."

"Oh, right, you don't know--Alicia's Mikey's wife."

Spencer blinked. He hadn't pegged Mikey to be one for married life. Frank laughed at him.

"Yeah, pretty much our reaction when we first heard the news, too."

It was a lot of hard work, focusing on little details, but it kept Spencer busy enough to take his mind off Brendon. True to Frank's words, many of the repairs needed were mundane, exchanging cogs, replacing gears and jacks, oiling junctions and putting things back into their proper order.

It gave Spencer a nice buzz for the rest of the day. Frank singing his praise wasn't bad, either. "You did good work today," he said after they closed the shop. "You've already helped us to catch up some with our backlog."

He led Spencer up to the main house. "Ray'll be pretty happy to see today's work log. He's always on our case to not let stuff linger around for too long."

"Why weren't you looking for help then?" Spencer asked. "Even without the backlog it looks like you have work enough to support one more clocksmith."

Frank shrugged. "We just weren't," he said. "He was special and, well, we didn't find anyone else who fit in." He was brusque, which surprised Spencer because so far Frank'd always answered every question Spencer had. He was a bit taken aback, but let it slide.

As a result, Spencer was quiet at dinner. He had many questions, but hesitated to ask them. He didn't want to step on anyone's toes, but he was curious.

Spencer startled when Gerard bumped his shoulder. "Hey, cheer up," Gerard said.

Spencer forced a smile and said, "just tired."

Spencer was elbow-deep into a new box (seriously, exactly where had they been stashing them? Spencer suspected Frank of pulling them out of thin air) when suddenly there was a commotion in the shop. Somebody laughed loudly. Spencer wanted to turn around see what was going on, but he was wearing goggles and currently soldering a lose thread back on. He concentrated on the task at hand.

A guy Spencer didn't know came into the shop. "Hey, Frank," he said, "I need a custom airlock."

Frank jumped on the guy's back. "The prodigal son is back!" he exclaimed.

Spencer just stood there with his eyebrows raised, as the guy rolled his eyes and calmly dumped Frank. "You wish," he said. Then he caught sight of Spencer. "You're new," he said, eyebrows raised himself.

"I'm Spencer. I've been working here for only two days," Spencer said and he stuck out his hand. Bob's handshake was firm and secure.

"It was fucking time they got a replacement for me," he said and Spencer was confused.

"Pardon me?"

Frank sighed. "Bob used to work here. Until he decided to desert us--"

"I opened a garage with my husband," Bob said, "and they all came to the opening party, so you better fucking believe they were all down with it."

"But you never come to visit!" Frank tried to sound upset, but his giggles destroyed the impression.

Bob snorted. "I come by at least once a week. I'm an airship mechanic," he told Spencer, "and Gerard helps me out when I need custom parts. He thinks they're uninspired and boring, but he gets to charge an arm and a leg for it, so Ray makes him behave."

"You make me sound like an unruly child," Gerard called from the back of the room. They all turned to look at him, and took in his dirty and dishevelled clothes, his hair unkempt and unwashed, waving around a lit pipe. Spencer didn't laugh, but only barely. He turned back to his work bench with a smile on his lips.

He worked in peace while Bob and Frank hashed out the details of the part Bob needed. Spencer only listened with half an ear to their conversation. This particular repair had turned out to be a bit trickier than it had initially appeared. He might have to adjust his calculations even. So he jumped when Bob appeared at his shoulder.

"You're good at this," Bob said, indicating the pile of repaired items.

Spencer shrugged. "Well, they hired me."

Bob snorted. "Doesn't mean anything. They were totally in over their head. They needed someone."

"Then why didn't they hire someone?" There was an abundance of clocksmiths around. If they had looked for help, they would have found someone.

"I guess Frank was waiting to see whether I was coming back," Bob said. "He can be kind of averse to change."

Spencer laughed. "For how long have you been gone?"

"About two years," Bob said nonchalantly.

Spencer blinked. "Two ... years?" He glanced at Frank, narrowing his eyes.

"He can be pretty tenacious." Bob shrugged. "Anyway. So what brings you to Los Angeles?"

Spencer shrugged. "Fate," he said. "I didn't think I'd end up here."

Bob laughed. "Nobody does," he said. He slapped Spencer's back and turned away. "Good luck dealing with those assholes, though," he said, smirking. "They can be difficult enough."

Frank chased him out of the workshop.

That night at dinner Gerard sat next to Spencer. "So what does bring you to Los Angeles?" he asked. "I'm sorry, but I was so busy before, I didn't think to ask."

Spencer shrugged. "I'm looking for a friend," he said pointedly casual. He didn't want to reveal too much. He didn't want them to become involved in what was basically Spencer's own personal quest and he didn't know how far he could trust them yet.

"A friend?" Gee asked.

"Yeah, he got ... lost." Spencer prodded his soup. "I'm going to bring him back home," he said determinedly.

"Must be a good friend," Frank said. He shared a look with Gerard that Spencer couldn't read.

"He is," Spencer said.

"Need help looking for him?" Ray offered. "L.A.'s pretty big, it won't be easy to find him."

"No, thank you," Spencer said. "I already have some leads."

Thankfully they dropped the topic after that.

Spencer wished that saying he had leads wouldn't have felt so much like lying. He didn't know whether he could really afford to refuse taking the help of the only people in Los Angeles he knew, who might actually answer his questions and not lead him astray, but he didn't want to give away too much. As far as Gerard's and Frank were concerned, they thought Spencer was here to stay, at least for an undetermined amount of time. Spencer felt bad when he thought that he would quit rather suddenly, leaving them in the lurch. Thinking about staying here forever felt just as bad, though.

There was just no luck to be had here, Spencer thought, as he carefully ate his soup. He still wanted Brendon back. He wondered whether he could do it without disappointing anyone, but that was probably a lost cause. He spent a thought on his parents and his sisters, back in Summerlin. He could only hope they understood why getting Brendon back was so important to him.

If only, Spencer thought, less of his life would rely on hoping for the best.

~~~***~~~

Brendon had kind of forgotten that the ride to Summerlin would take almost two days. "Can't we go faster?" he asked Alex again.

Alex patiently said, "not unless we don't want to actually arrive in one piece." Again. Brendon suspected Alex had a recording somewhere and was just moving his lips in time.

"But-"

"I thought Victoria was having another problem with her keytar," Alex interrupted him. "She's in the lounge."

By now Brendon had learned that this was his cue to go. On his way to the lounge, he did not stomp his feet like a five year old having a tantrum, but it was a close thing. He wasn't bored exactly, it was that he was just really, really bad at waiting. Now that he'd made up his mind, he wanted to be home _now_. The wait felt terribly long and his nerves were the worse, the longer it lasted.

Brendon slumped down in one of the armchairs. Victoria did not have any problems with her keytar, he knew, as she was currently playing one the songs they'd picked up in Chicago. Brendon felt very much like sulking.

"Your face will stay like that," Nate said in passing. Of course, he was going to the bridge, to keep Alex company. Brendon narrowed his eyes. Perhaps he could just follow him--but no. It was no use. Annoying Alex wasn't going to make them go any faster.

"We'll be there tomorrow," Victoria said, while she frowned at her instrument. She was trying to play an f sharp, but it didn't sound very good.

"I know," Brendon said.

"We're going as fast as we can, which is already faster than we should go." Victoria seemed entirely unconcerned and Brendon knew for a fact that they never kept to the maximum speed the Cobra was built for. He hadn't asked which modifications exactly they'd done, but Ryland had once told him that the Cobra was worth way more than she looked like.

"I know," he repeated. "I know, I know, I know." He sighed. "I just--I want to be there."

Victoria nodded. "Hey, fix this," she said and pulled him over to her chair. "Tune it."

Brendon snorted, but he bent over the keytar, grateful for any distraction. At least it kept him busy long until dinner and then Gabe appeared from whatever he'd been doing all day and after that Brendon didn't have any time to spend thinking.

The next morning he woke up early with a sense of urgency. Today he would finally go back home. Be home. He got all his stuff together. Seriously, how had he managed to unpack so many things in only one day? He groomed himself and spent a long time looking into the mirror. He mustered himself--had he changed? Brendon felt much more grown up than a few months ago, but superficially he looked unchanged. He had learned how it was to miss something, really miss it, not like he missed the summer heat during winter or the cold when the temperature was climbing up and up and up in August. He had learned so much, shouldn't it show?

"You're not getting any prettier," Ryland said when he came into Brendon's room.

Brendon shoved him. "Is breakfast ready? I'm starving," he said.

"In the kitchen," Ryland said. Brendon let Ryland usher him out of his room.

"When are we going to arrive?" was Brendon's first words once he saw Gabe.

"This afternoon," Alex replied.

"Awesome," Brendon said, but the oatmeal lay like lead in Brendon's stomach. He was nervous now that he knew that he would see his parents soon again.

The entire day passed slow like molasses. By the time they finally reached Summerlin in the late afternoon, Brendon was ready to burst out of his skin.

He sat at the window, staring at the landscape flying by. He listened closely to any sounds coming from the cockpit. Then he realised he knew the road they were flying over. "We are there!"

Laughter emanated from the cockpit. Alex called, "we're landing in fifteen minutes!"

Brendon jumped up and leaned against the window pane. Summerlin flew by underneath him and his heart jumped in his chest. "Home," he whispered.

"Brendon!" Nate called. "We need you."

"What do you need?"

Alex pointed at the view of his window. The forest was to their right, Summerlin to their left. "There are a few good places where we could land. Any preferences?"

"Over there," Brendon pointed to a clearing a little bit away from town, but still close to where Brendon's parents lived. "That's good."

Alex set down the Cobra smoothly, but Brendon had no thought for the nice landing. Instead he ran to the ramp. Victoria was already waiting. "Remember to come back," she told him, laughing.

"I will," Brendon said, and he wasn't that surprised to find that he really meant it. As soon as he was on solid ground again, he started running. He passed the sheriff, but ignored his surprised gasp and kept moving. He waved at Mrs Thomson in passing, but then he could already see the fence of his parents' home. He crashed through the gate and only stopped at the door. He knocked, trying to announce his arrival, but before anyone could open the door, he let himself in.

"Mother! Father!" he called.

"Brendon!" his mother called from the living room. She and his father looked surprised, when Brendon stumbled in. He caught himself at the next chair, pulling himself upright.

"Where have you been?" His father got up and walked over.

"Chicago," Brendon said. He threw his arms around his father and held on. "I missed you," he said, before moving on and hugging his mother. She returned his embrace warmly.

"We were trusting God to return you to us," his mother said, "and he hasn't proven us wrong."

Brendon forced a smile. "You didn't search for me?" His heart was beating so fast he was afraid it might jump out of his chest. If she said they hadn't, it would prove Gabe to be right and that just couldn't be. Surely they must have looked for him, he thought. He was the youngest, their son, surely they would have ... "Did you receive my letter? The telegraph, I mean?" If they had received his message, they wouldn't have had any need to--

His father put his hand on Brendon's shoulder. It was heavy, weighing Brendon down. "Unfortunately no," he said. "We didn't receive any word from you. We decided that we couldn't waste the men's time like that. It would have been pretentious to do so."

Brendon nodded, pretending to understand, but the only thing he could think about was that Gabe had been right, nobody had been looking for him. Did telegraphs get lost often? He didn't know whether to even believe them that they hadn't gotten it. Most above all, he felt disappointed.

"I'd like to greet Spencer, Ryan and Jon, too," he said. His voice sounded very distant. "They must have missed me, too, and I don't want them to worry anymore."

"Of course," his father said, and they let Brendon go. Brendon walked down the street in a daze. His parents didn't--he couldn't believe that Gabe had really been right.

He saw Jon and Ryan running towards him, and all disappointment was momentarily forgotten in that moment.

"You're back!" Jon shouted. "You're still alive."

Brendon let Jon pull him into a hug. He clung tightly to him and Ryan. He didn't think they would mind. "Yes, I am," he said.

"Where were you?" Ryan asked. "We walked until Barstow, but we couldn't find you."

"You walked until where?" Brendon stared at the two of them, overwhelmed.

"Barstow," Jon said. "We were looking for you," he added, and Brendon felt dizzy with relief. Gabe wasn't entirely right. His chest swell with pride for his friends.

"But then we had to turn back," Ryan said. He looked chagrined and sad. "We would've lost our jobs," he said. "Spencer's lost his."

"Oh no," Brendon said. It didn't seem right that Spencer had lost his job because of Brendon. He thought perhaps if Brendon went to Mr Wilson, he'd be able to persuade him to take Spencer back. Spencer was a very good clocksmith, probably the best apprentice Mr Wilson had ever had, and his capabilities would be sorely missed in his shop.

At that moment Brendon realised that someone was missing from their round. "Where is Spencer?" he asked.

Ryan sighed. "We don't know. He's still looking for you."

Brendon thought he hadn't heard right. "Spencer's still ... looking for me?" He counted the weeks in his head. "But it's been two months," he added quietly.

"He wouldn't give up," Jon said. "In Barstow we fought over it, because Ryan and me, we had to go back. He wouldn't, though." He bumped Brendon's shoulder. "He's still out there."

"But where?"

"He was headed to Los Angeles when we separated," Ryan said.

"Oh," Brendon said.

"He'll probably come back soon," Jon said, but even he doesn't look convinced by his own words. "He can't have that much money left. Surely he's already on his way back home."

"Surely," Brendon repeated. He hugged them both again, just because he could.

"We have to go back to work," Ryan said sadly. "When we heard an airship had landed, we thought that maybe ... and then we had to make sure."

"It's all right," Brendon said. "I'm all right."

He walked back, but passed straight by his parents' house. The Cobra was securely tethered to the ground now. Brendon climbed into the hatch and walked to the bridge.

"Hey," he said to Gabe who was looking over his maps.

"How's the family?" Gabe's voice was void of all emotion, which was strange for him. Brendon thought Gabe was permanently amused by everything around him, in a very sad and angry way.

"They're fine," Brendon said. He stared out of the window. The left window was dominated by a view of Summerlin, but the right one shows the wide expanse of the surrounding land. The forest edged in at the corner, the trees swaying in the wind, leaves rustling. Brendon thought it looked peaceful.

"Your friends?"

"They went looking for me." It gave Brendon an odd sort of satisfaction. "One of them's still looking for me."

"So are you happy now?"

Brendon turned to Gabe. "I don't know," he said. "It's all different than I expected."

"Do you want to stay?"

"What?"

Gabe shrugged. "There's nothing for you here. We can take you back to Los Angeles. Hell, I can even take you back to Chicago, if you want."

"Spencer's in Los Angeles right now," Brendon said quietly. "At least they think he is." He stared out of the window. He missed Spencer and, if he was completely honest with himself, Spencer had been his main reason to come back. He had indeed wanted to make sure his family knew he was safe, but mostly he longed for Spencer to wrap him up in a hug and tell him how stupid he had been to go into the woods at night all alone.

Brendon had been looking forward so much to this moment, being home again, that he had never thought it possible to be this disappointed. Spencer wasn't here, and his family had left him to his fate without even fighting for him. Not wasting anyone's time, Brendon thought bitterly. He hadn't been worth enough to even search for just one day?

Brendon had wanted Spencer to know he was safe, and now here he was worrying about Spencer. It was a strange turn of events.

Gabe didn't comment on Brendon's pensiveness, but he gave Brendon a knowing look. Brendon ignored him steadfastly.

"You know what, I'm a nice guy."

"You're really not," Brendon threw in.

Gabe grinned. "We're leaving the day after tomorrow," he said. "Around noon, if we can get up that early. You have until then to decide."

"To decide what?" Brendon asked, stubbornly oblivious.

"Whether you want to go and find your guy or stay here," Gabe answered. He pointed at the town. "To figure out whether that's home or not."

 _It isn't_ , Brendon wanted to say. "Thank you," he said instead. He had a day and a half to figure out whether he wanted to break with his parents or not. Back in Chicago, when he'd been so far removed from them, it had been easy not to think about them. But here in Summerlin everything was connected to memories: that tree Brendon climbed when he was ten and he almost broke his arm when he slipped and fell; the smell of his mother baking sweet bread; the little creek Spencer, Ryan, Jon and he had spend so much time at so often during summer, letting their feet hang in the water. Now that Brendon was back, it wasn't as easy anymore to just turn his back and leave.

He wondered whether he'd made a mistake in coming back.

~~~***~~~

Time passed faster than Spencer expected. Soon he had been working for a full week. It would still be a few weeks until he had worked through the entire backlog, but, according to Ray, the most pressing things were taken care off.

"Hey, Spencer, I have some errands for you to run." Frank appeared at Spencer's side. "Urgent ones."

"If you interrupted me less often," Spencer said, "I'd already be finished with these."

"Yeah," Frank said. "But then I would have to run around in the afternoon heat."

Spencer laughed and took the note Frank was holding out to him. "I'll try to be quick," he said, skimming the list. Bread and eggs from the grocery down the road, Gerard's new coat was ready to be picked up from the seamstress, and they were almost out of the thick engine oil.

Spencer figured he'd be busy for most of the afternoon. He frowned at the list, trying to figure out the best route.

Frank waved at him. "Take your time," he said.

Outside it was sunny and warm. Spencer walked the now familiar path down the grocery store. He was wondering when he could go looking for more information. Tomorrow was his day off, but Gerard had invited him to lunch and Spencer felt lonely enough that he had accepted without thinking about it.

The grocer greeted Spencer by name. Spencer suddenly realised that he'd become part of the quarter, that he was now known as _Gerard's new guy_ , which often caused people to thump his back in sympathy. Gerard was eccentric enough to be an odd figure even here, but still nice enough to be liked by most people.

Spencer thought, _I'm far from home_. As far as he could remember, he'd always been _Jeff's boy_ and _Ginger's son_. He didn't know how he felt about that changing.

Spencer managed to finish his errands quickly enough that he still had two hours left to work. Finally, he finished with the toys for the orphanage. He strongly suspected that Frank and Gerard had been adding new boxes of them behind Mikey's back. Alicia was adamant to run the orphanage on her own terms, and she was quite successful: all the children went to school and did well enough to get apprenticeships all over town. There were always more children in need, though. Toys were a rare commodity and Spencer had witnessed Gerard building completely new ones.

As it was, Spencer set down the box full of newly repaired toys next to Gerard. He would take the box over to the orphanage--Mikey wasn't in the store today. A few children were sick and he'd stayed home with Alicia to help.

"Brendon could've done those in half the time," Spencer told Gerard. "He's specialised in toys."

"Brendon?"

"My, uh, friend," Spencer said. He hadn't talked much about why he'd come to Los Angeles, and it had seemed fine. Nobody had asked too many questions. He had carefully avoided mentioning Brendon too often, but this time it had slipped Spencer's mind to be cautious.

Gerard grinned at him. "I see," he said, and Spencer wondered what he was thinking. But then Ray came running and pushed an overdue repair into Spencer's hands, and he forgot all about the incident.

The next morning, though, Gerard was unusually talkative. "I had this friend in apprentice school," he said. "Well, friend's a bit much--at first he just annoyed me to death."

Spencer laughed. "I had a similar friend," he said. "But we were the only ones from our town, so we had to stuck together."

"Oh, really?" Gerard grinned. "What's his name?"

"Brendon," Spencer said. "He couldn't sit still, but he was gifted at fixing things." Spencer kept his tone carefully neutral.

"Must have been nice to have someone you already knew," Frank said. "The first couple of months were lonely for me."

"Yeah," Spencer said. "It was nice."

"Can you cut those?" Gerard pushed a bowl of vegetables to Spencer.

Spencer sighed, pretended to be put upon, but he couldn't suppress a grin. Gerard's cooking was either hit or miss, which made it a very interesting experience.

Frank cuffed Gerard on the head. "But nice to find out you thought I was annoying," he said.

"Oh," Spencer said, "you were the friend-?"

Frank grinned. "Yeah. For me it was love at first sight. Gerard needed a few years more."

Gerard snorted. "Well, if you had asked me out like a normal person instead of just hanging all over me all the time-"

"That was me wooing you."

"You suck at wooing."

Spencer laughed.

Gerard turned to Spencer. "Once we got drunk and he convinced me to put on one of my mother's dresses. Like, it would bring out my nice legs."

Spencer grinned. "And you did?"

Frank giggled gleefully. "He did! And he walked out of the house, down the street and told everyone who looked at him the wrong way to shove it. It was awesome."

"I was almost arrested," Gerard said. He didn't sound very mad, thought, rather reminiscent and nostalgic.

"What was the weirdest thing your friend dragged you to?" Gerard emphasised the word friend, but Spencer tried to ignore it.

"The carnival," he said. "They were headed to Las Vegas proper, and they stayed only one hour's walk away from our town." He sighed. "Brendon really wanted to go, but of course, he didn't want to go alone, so he made us go with him."

"How was it?" Frank asked. "The carnivals here are pretty sick."

Spencer tried not to blush as he remembered the tents full of half-naked people. "They were ... interesting," he said. "There was a knife-thrower. Brendon was scared that he'd miss and kill the girl, so he insisted we move on. And," Spencer laughed at the memory, "there was a bearded lady." He grinned at Gerard."You would have like it," he ended.

Frank snorted. "I'm gonna set the table," he said and left the kitchen.

Gerard was working intently on the soup. Spencer thought he was mostly throwing in a random assortment of spices. He made a note to eat a lot of bread with his soup.

"You must miss your intended a lot," Gerard pointed out, a non-sequitur to their current conversation, and Spencer startled.

"My what?" Spencer asked.

"Brendon," Gerard said gently. "You must miss him."

"I do," Spencer said, "but Brendon's not my intended." He stumbled over the word, had to repeat himself, and by the time he finished his face was bright red.

Gerard hummed. "If you say so," he said. "I mean--if he was, it's not like we would mind." He pointed at the kitchen. "We wouldn't."

"I know," Spencer said. "But believe me, he isn't."

"Oh," Gerard said, "my bad."

Spencer nodded, accepting the inherent apology. He concentrated on peeling the potatoes for the main dish. He couldn't stop thinking about it, though, the word _intended_ running through his mind, derailing all his thoughts.

"Why did you-" Spencer interrupted himself. "Don't mind me," he said.

"No, no." Gerard shook his head. "Feel free to ask."

"Um, why did you think that Brendon was, that he was my ... you know what."

Gerard was silent for long enough that Spencer glanced at him. He found Gerard staring at Spencer. "The way you talk about him," he said. "You light up when you say his name."

Spencer didn't know what to say. He just nodded and turned back to his potatoes.

"I've got a question, too," Gerard said. "Do you want him to be your intended?" He gestured at Spencer with the ladle he was holding. "You seem to like him well enough."

Spencer shook his head. "No," he said. The lie felt heavy on his tongue, and Gerard didn't look convinced.

"Spencer ..."

"Yes," Spencer said. "Yes, I think so."

"What's holding you back?"

Spencer hesitated and shuffled his feet. "I don't know," he said.

"Bullshit," Gerard said. "There's always a reason."

"I didn't," Spencer started. "I didn't realise what I felt for him until he left."

Gerard gave him a look. Spencer sighed. "Perhaps I didn't want to know," he said. "Anyway, I didn't and then ... he was gone."

"That's bad," Gerard told him. "Why did he leave?"

"It's a long story," Spencer said. "He's a Latter Day Saint," he added as an afterthought, although it had nothing to do with Brendon's disappearance.

"Ah," Gerard said. He thankfully didn't try to probe any further.

Lunch was quiet, much to Spencer's relief. He relaxed when he finally could excuse himself. He had planned to go by the docks, to try and see whether he couldn't get any more information.

The pubs were full of people. Spencer hoped this would turn out in his favour--and found out it didn't. "Hey, do you know when Saporta'll be back?" Spencer asked a guy at random.

He shrugged. "Dunno. Kinda kooky that one. Never know what's going in that head of his."

Spencer suppressed a sigh. "Thanks," he said. He pushed forward until he reached the bar.

"Hey sweetheart, what can I get for you?" The bartender, a pretty redhead with a very indecent cleavage, leaned forward, grinning at Spencer.

"Uhm," he said. "Water?"

She snorted. "I meant something better than water." She nodded at the tabs. "A pint?"

"Sorry, no," Spencer said. Around him everyone was drinking and some people were already past inebriated and well into completely wasted. It was still afternoon, and Spencer didn't want his judgment impaired by alcohol.

"Oh," she said. She squinted at Spencer. "Have I seen you before?" Her tone turned suspicious, and Spencer thought that maybe he should try and leave soon.

"No," he said.

"Pretty sure I'm not gonna see you again," she said. She turned away, but kept glancing at Spencer from the side. Spencer decided that that was his clue to leave.

The next pub wasn't any more informative. A group of men was celebrating, and it was loud and raucous. Spencer left as soon as he stepped into the pub. He didn't think he'd be able to get even one straight answer out the people there.

Spencer felt a sense of déjà-vu as he asked again and again, only to receive five different answers. Chicago was mentioned a few times, but so was New York. Spencer was painfully aware how fast airships could travel. Every time he felt close to Brendon, it seemed like invisible powers moved Brendon away, making his quest never-ending and futile.

"You don't know where I could find him, do you?" The sailor Spencer had been talking to shook his head.

"Sorry, dude."

Someone grabbed Spencer's shoulder and turned him around forcefully. "Either you're gonna buy a drink or you're gonna leave," the burly pub owner told Spencer. "I can't stand anyone asking stupid questions in here."

People were taking notice of Spencer already. He quietly left and hurried away from the docks. Dusk was already falling and Spencer wanted to be gone from the docks before it became fully dark.

As he made his way back to the Ways, Spencer went over what he'd found out. Despite almost everyone knowing who Saporta was, nobody knew what he was actually up to. Saporta's business seemed to be mostly legit, it turned out. Of all the people that had only been mentioned in hushed tones, Saporta hadn't been among them. It surprised Spencer and made him wonder what he did with the people he took captive.

It was a measly result: Spencer still didn't have a firm lead, although he had confirmed that Saporta most definitely had his base in Los Angeles. It just didn't add up.

Spencer went to bed feeling frustrated. The feeling stuck around for a few days, making Spencer grumpy and little talkative. He threw himself into his work. It helped to take his mind off Brendon for a bit, and slowly Spencer's mood improved. Still, when Ray called him into the office a few days later, Spencer went apprehensively. He'd been here for two weeks, and so far both Gerard and Frank had only been full of praise. Granted, it had been praise of the kind of _you're good at that shit, keep doing that_ , but Spencer didn't think he'd given them any cause for grief. He couldn't find any reason why Ray called for him.

"Hey Spencer," Ray said. "Here, sit down."

Spencer sat down gingerly. "Why did you want to talk to me?"

"Just lemme check this--okay." Ray pulled an envelope out of the desk. "This is your pay for this month."

Spencer blinked. "But it hasn't been a month yet," Spencer said, even while he was taken the money.

Ray shrugged. "Right now is when we pay everyone else, too."

Spencer didn't point out that Frank and Gerard owned the shop, so they didn't get paid, Mikey was a silent partner and they just gave his money to Alicia, whenever she needed some, so Ray was the only one who actually needed a paycheque.

Spencer checked the envelope out of habit, but he paused after he counted the money. He counted it again. "Ray," he said, "this ... you put $100 in here." It was more than Spencer had expected and what he'd even earned.

Ray waved at him. "You did good work," he said. "You've gotten us caught up really well--"

"I still have a lot to do."

"I know." Ray smiled. "But you already helped us lots and, uh, we noticed you didn't seem to have much money on hand at the moment." He clapped Spencer's shoulder. "Just take it as sign of our gratitude."

"Thank you," Spencer said before he went back to his work place.

Spencer's mind was awhirl with thoughts. Initially he'd planned to leave right after receiving his pay, going back to the streets to find Brendon. But now ... He stood at his workbench, sorting out his tools, working automatically just to have something to do with his hands. He could leave, take these $100 and go off again.

Spencer realised with dismay that he'd become comfortable in his room here, that he was loathe to leave. The money lay heavy in his pocket, almost burning a hole in it. Spencer thought about how he still didn't know where Brendon was. He had about a dozen different places he might be. But wherever Gabe had gone almost three weeks ago, by now he could be anywhere.

It was a demotivating and startling realisation, to say the least. Now Spencer had the means to continue his search, but without a good starting point he'd just find himself soon again in the same situation he was in when he first arrive in Los Angeles. It wouldn't be very wise to leave his current safe place, where he was guaranteed a place to sleep and foot, just to follow random whispers he couldn't trust.

"Hey," Frank said. He moved to the workbench next to Spencer's and took a few items from Spencer's current box.

"Hey," Spencer said back. He tried to make his voice neutral, but he fell short of the task.

Frank unscrewed the top of the clock he was currently looking at. "Let me tell you about that time Gee was convinced that our closet was haunted," he said.

Spencer grinned. "Please do."

Frank smirked and started the epic tale, which included a priest, Gerard reading mantras and opening windows in the middle of the night to let the haunted ghosts leave. It led to one about Mikey and an unfortunate lamp, which led to how Frank had asked for Gee's hand, which led to another dozen stories.

Spencer found his mood lifting, and he let Frank distract him. It was easy enough to laugh at Frank's jokes and his exaggerated stories. It worked until Spencer went up to his room.

He spread out the money in front of him, sorting the coins and bills.

"Spencer Smith, you're a fool," he told himself quietly. "You're chasing ghosts."

He wondered whether he had enough money to go home. Probably, he thought, but the thought held little comfort. By now Mr Wilson would have relieved Spencer from his services. Spencer had taken the risk willingly when he started his search for Brendon, and he found that he wasn't regretting it the least bit. He had another job now, he realised. He didn't have to go home and grovel at Wilson's feet, begging him to take Spencer back.

Spencer didn't want to go home, if he was being honest with himself. He had risked everything for Brendon, and to go home now would mean to admit to everyone that he failed in his quest.

He didn't want to be that much of a disappointment to his family and friends.

Spencer rubbed his eyes. All this idle contemplation didn't bring him anywhere, he thought. Brendon was still gone and Spencer was still in Los Angeles without any real indication where to start looking for him.

He didn't know where to go next and he couldn't go back. It was better to stay then, he thought, and he was surprised that the idea of staying for even longer with Gerard and Frank was much more comforting.

So it was then. Spencer was going to stay. If he didn't have Brendon, here was just as good as anywhere else.

~~~***~~~

Brendon might have been unsure about whether he was going to stay in Summerlin--his parents, however, didn't even seem to consider the possibility that Brendon would leave again. After Gabe's offer, Brendon left the Cobra again. As he slowly walked back to his parents' house, he catalogued all the things he saw. Mr Johnson had put up that fence after the bad storm three years ago, which had destroyed his old fence. Matt had once dared him to climb that tree and they've been scolded when Brendon fell and ripped his trousers. That church was the one Brendon had gone to all his life.

Back at home he was welcomed by his siblings and there was no more time for idle thoughts. Brendon hugged his sisters and brothers, his nieces and nephews. The house was loud, filled with so many voices, and Brendon let it wash over him, content to be passed around from one person to the next, hugging them, reassuring them that he was fine, no, really, nothing bad had happened.

But when he lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling of his room, the one he'd shared with his brothers until they married and had their own families, their own houses, as he stared at the cracks in the ceiling and in the walls that he'd counted every time he couldn't fall asleep, he thought maybe something bad had happened. Brendon now knew that there were different ways to live his life, ways that made him happy. He didn't think his parents' way was the right one for him, and this maybe hurt even more than missing Spencer.

The next morning Brendon was quiet and withdrawn. Last night it had felt like he had all the time in the world to make up his mind, but now it seemed like he had to hurry. He only had one day, to decide whether to break his parents' hearts and leave again, trying his luck in the big city, or whether to stay, obey his parents' wishes and be unhappy.

"You should see Mr Hoppes today," his father said at breakfast.

"Mr Hoppes?"

His mother smiled. "I'm sure he'll take you back on," she said. "It wasn't your fault that you were abducted, after all."

"Oh," Brendon said. "Of course."

Brendon hadn't even thought about going back to Mr Hoppes. He missed clocksmithery, but he also missed playing music. His hands were itching to sit down at his mother's old upright piano, to play the melodies he'd learned.

"And you know what they say about idle hands," his mother added.

Brendon prodded his oatmeal. "I don't know," he started.

His father looked at him. "It won't do for you to stay home."

"But I--about that," Brendon said. "Staying home." He shrugged uneasily. "I don't know if I will."

His mother put her hand over his. "What do you mean? Where would you go?" She squeezed Brendon's hand. "Have you found a girl?" She sounded vaguely hopeful. "Someone to settle down with?"

Brendon shook his head. "No," he said. "I ...I don't know, I might go back?"

"Where would you go?" His father sounded cold and distant. "Your home is here."

Brendon opened his mouth, but he couldn't say _no, it isn't, not anymore_. Instead he nodded. "I will go to the shop at once after breakfast," he said.

The way to the shop dragged on and on. Brendon was stopped by many a people who inquired after his well-being. Brendon enjoyed every interruption. His heart felt heavy, because with every step he took, Brendon realised that he'd made his choice. He just had to stand up to it.

The doorbell rang out cleanly. "Good morning, Mr Hoppes," Brendon called. He owed it to his parents to ask, but as he looked around the shop, it seemed unchanged. He looked at the flute in the window display and he felt like he was suffocating. Perhaps Mr Hoppes didn't need him anymore. Perhaps he wouldn't have to make the decision himself. He wouldn't have to stay if he couldn't find a job here, right?

"Oh, dear Brendon!" Mr Hoppes hurried into the shop. "I had been so worried, dear boy." He beamed at Brendon. "I heard last night that you've come back well and unharmed."

"I have," Brendon said, smiling. He steeled himself. "I was going to ask whether you'd employ me. Again."

Mr Hoppes smiled. "I would be a fool, if I didn't," he said. "It was quite busy without you."

Brendon looked at the tidy shelves, still filled with merchandise Brendon had built or fixed himself. If anything, Mr Hoppes had been quite lonely, all alone in his shop. Brendon didn't point out the lie, though. "Thank you," he said instead. "Do you want me to start at once?" His voice sounded distant, he thought. He tried to pretend to be happy to have his old job back, but he couldn't find the tiniest sliver of joy in himself.

"Oh, no," Mr Hoppes said. "You've had quite an adventure, I imagine. No, take a few days for yourself. You must first arrive at home." He smiled. "It must be strange to come back after such a long time."

Brendon sighed. "Indeed, it is," he said. He forced a smile. "I will see you on Monday, then?"

Mr Hoppes nodded. "Please, take as much time as you need."

Brendon smiled and thanked him. "I will." Outside of the job, he kicked a small stone to the curb. _Busy_ , he thought angrily. _I can see how busy you were._ He walked home deliberately slow.

He felt at unease--trying to sort out his life while he wasn't sure he wanted to stay felt like lying. He was angry at his parents for pushing him and angry at himself for letting them. Getting his position in Mr Hoppes' shop back made it seem like Brendon was going to stay, and the more time he spent with his parents, the more closed in he felt. He didn't want to make his decision under pressure, but he couldn't go around town behaving like he was here to stay when he didn't know.

Brendon wished Spencer was here. Whenever Brendon needed advice, he'd gone to Spencer. The advice was occasionally sarcastic, sometimes amused, but always, always true. Brendon had gone to him the first time he felt like the Church was too dogmatic for him. They had sat in Spencer's garden under the apple tree. Brendon had looked at the sky through the branches and had asked, "do you believe in God?"

Brendon remembered that Spencer had put his arm around Brendon, held him still. How hot his hand on Brendon's arm had been, as he'd answered, "yes. Do you?"

"I think so," Brendon had said. He'd paused before adding, "but I think God doesn't much care how I choose to live my life."

Spencer had squeezed Brendon's arm gently. "Yes, I think so, too."

Brendon had squinted, tried to count the leaves as he tried not to wonder whether the fact that Brendon hadn't said _as long as I'm not committing any sins_ had slipped by Spencer or not. Spencer's church didn't consider same-sex unions as sins, they cherished them as much as any union.

Spencer had leaned his head against Brendon's. "I think as long as you're happy, it doesn't matter."

Brendon had nodded jerkily, and leaned more firmly against Spencer. "Yes." It had been the end of that particular conversation, as Brendon hadn't dared to be any clearer about what he meant.

Brendon breathed deeply as he entered his parents' house. He closed his eyes and breathed in the familiar smells of the house. They were familiar, but they'd lost that homely sense, Brendon realised. He now missed the smell of cigarettes, stale whiskey and sweat that permeated the club after a long night. He stood in the hallway, idly wondering whether he was now damned to be longing for wherever he wasn't at a particular time. He hoped not.

"You're back," his mother greeted him. "How's Mr Hoppes?"

"He's doing well," Brendon said. "He expects me on Monday." His stomach churned at the thought of putting on his old work cloth, sit down at his old workbench and doing the same kinds of repairs he'd been doing for years now. He wondered whether Victoria's keytar was still tuned, whether he couldn't find a better mechanism for the valves. He wondered what else could be combined, what would work, what would sound good, and his hands itched to try out some of his ideas.

"The fence in the backyard needs to be repaired," his mother said. "Your father was too busy with the farm to deal with it."

"I will look at it," Brendon said. He longed to escape the house. Suddenly every nook, every corner seemed dark and suffocating. The garden was preferable.

A post was broken and needed to be replaced. Brendon worked automatically, without thinking. It was quick work, and Brendon started weeding the vegetable garden. It was mindless work, and later Brendon couldn't tell how long exactly he'd been out there. He was surprised when his mother called him for dinner. Time had slipped by so fast.

His mother smiled at him, as he took out his shoes and washed his hands in the tub they kept at the backdoor. "I'm so glad to have you back," she said and hugged him quickly. Brendon's heart ached. He mustered up the energy for a smile when he sat down at the table.

After grace, nobody said anything. Brendon ate silently, concentrating on his soup. He was surprised when his mother spoke.

"You've just come home," his mother said, "but we were wondering whether you've managed to come to a decision yet."

Brendon looked up startled. "A decision about what?"

His father looked at him sternly. "Marriage," he said.

"I talked to Mrs Cooper yesterday," his mother said. "She says Victoria would love to have you."

"Mother," Brendon started, but his father interrupted him.

"I remember the evening you ... left," he said. "And the fight we had. Your abduction was an unfortunate event, but we remain firm. At the end of the summer you'll be married."

It was his tone that triggered Brendon's anger, the way he sounded so certain and assured that Brendon would do exactly as he was told. Brendon found himself sitting up straight, and his heart was beating fast, as he tried to find an appropriate way to put this off. "If Spencer has returned by then," is what he said instead. The moment he spoke, he felt like a weight was lifting from his shoulders. He had already admitted to himself that it was Spencer he wanted, and if Spencer didn't want Brendon, Brendon couldn't settle for the next best girl in marriage. This wasn't the way he would have preferred to tell his parents, but they had pushed him too far now.

His father frowned. "I don't see what Spencer has to do with your marriage." His voice was low and his eyes were piercing.

This is it, Brendon thought. Now or never. "It would be difficult to marry Spencer without him being there," he said. Neither his parents reacted.

Brendon took a deep breath. "I had a lot of time to think in the last two months," he said, "and I love Spencer."

"Brendon," his mother said. Her voice broke and Brendon realised with a start that she was crying. He had made his mother cry. Brendon was miserable, but he couldn't take it back just to make his parents feel better.

"You know that we will not be able to accept this relationship or give it our blessing," his father said in a hard voice. "It's not condoned by God."

Brendon nodded. "I know," he said, "but I can't change who I love."

"Brendon, please," his mother said. "Won't you at least try and talk to Victoria?" She sounded as desperate as Brendon felt now.

"It wouldn't be fair to her," he said. "I'm sorry."

"If your decision is final," his father said, "I'm afraid I can't welcome you any longer in this house.

His mother groaned. "Please think about it," she pleaded, but Brendon needed a moment to realise that she was talking to Brendon. She was accepting his father's judgment without challenging it at all.

Brendon could feel his heart breaking. He'd known it would hurt to tell his parents, he'd known what to expect, but to know and to experience were two different things.

"Please excuse me," Brendon said tersely. He got up without waiting for a response. Nobody called him back. He went back into the garden. The fresh air was a relief and Brendon breathed deeply.

The house sat dark and cold behind him. Brendon couldn't stand it anymore and he walked across that garden, toward an old juniper. As long as Brendon could remember, the juniper had sat in the back of their garden. His father had occasionally talked about cutting it down, but he'd never gone through with it.

Brendon used to climb it when he was younger--it used to be his refuge, safe from older brothers and sisters and his parents' complaints. He leaned against it, the rough bark scratching his skin.

He contemplated accepting Gabe's offer. Summerlin didn't hold anything for Brendon anymore--Spencer was gone. Instead of waiting for Brendon to come home, he'd done something as stupid and brave like starting his own search party. Spencer was presumably somewhere in Los Angeles, far away from here.

Brendon wanted to see Spencer again, to reassure himself that Spencer was fine. Brendon thought bitterly that he should have thought more about what the future. At the time, when Brendon decided to go home, he couldn't see past those first few happy days. He'd imagined that everyone would be relieved to see him again, that Brendon would get to tell stories from his big adventure, that he could show them the music he'd learned. He should've known it was just an idle fantasy.

Now Brendon was here, and Gabe's offer was so tempting. Brendon could leave, try his luck again somewhere new. But wasn't that running away? Shouldn't he stay and see whether he couldn't be happy here? The more Brendon thought about it, the more difficult it became to make a decision. Brendon didn't want to stay--he felt stifled, caged in, and the old familiarity of his surroundings made him desperate for something new. But a future away from Summerlin was uncertain--where would he live, where would he work, would that make him happy?

Brendon climbed on the next branch and stared at the dark mess of leaves above him. He wished the decision were easier.

The temperature didn't drop a lot at night anymore, but it was enough to make Brendon shiver. He got up, his muscles and bones protesting the hours he'd spent in the tree. The house was dark and quiet. His parents had since long gone to bed. Brendon found the way into his old bed even in the dark. The mattress, even thin as it was, felt good, but still sleep would not come. Brendon couldn't settle down. He had less than a day to make up his mind, and he was more confused than ever.

The next morning came bright and early, though. Brendon felt sick in the pale morning light. The idea of spending more time in the house made him even sicker, though, so he snuck out quietly. He wandered down the road, mindless of where he ended up with.

When Brendon looked up and found himself in front of Ryan's little house, he wasn't surprised. He knocked at the door. Brendon didn't know which time it was, but Ryan usually didn't know himself, either.

"Good morning," Brendon said, when Ryan opened the door.

"Come in." Ryan pointed down the hall. "What brings you here?"

Brendon took a deep breath. "Gabe has offered to take me back," he said. "To, well, wherever I want, I guess."

Ryan looked at Brendon. "Are you going to go?" His voice was neutral, but his monotone was familiar and Brendon relaxed.

"I don't know," he said. "I want to, but ..."

"But what?"

"My parents." Brendon shrugged. "The Church."

Ryan snorted. "The Church has lost you a while ago," he said.

Brendon looked down. "Maybe," he said.

"Brendon," Ryan said slowly. "What keeps you here?"

"Nothing," Brendon said quietly. "Everything I want is somewhere else."

"Spencer's in Los Angeles." Ryan stated it matter-of-factly.

Brendon blushed. "I, um, well-"

"Dear Lord," Ryan said. He shook his head. "He's gone looking for you. He could have come back with us, but he didn't. He's going to stay away until he finds out." Ryan paused and he took Brendon's hand, squeezing it gently. "It's kind of pretty obvious what he feels for you."

Brendon's heart beat faster and he gripped Ryan's hand tightly. "Really?"

Ryan rolled his eyes, but he smiled, as he replied, "really."

"I will come back," Brendon said. "Or, I don't know, you will come to visit." He pulled Ryan in for a hug. "Tell Jon, too," he said. "I'm going to write. And stuff."

Ryan grinned. "First you should go and find Spencer."

"I have to pack." Brendon held on tightly. "Thank you," he whispered.

Ryan shook his head. "Don't thank me yet," he said. When Brendon let go, he saw that Ryan was still smiling. "I just need you to bring Spencer back."

Brendon chuckled, and it felt like the first really happy emotion he'd had since he returned. "I see your cunning plan."

"Be safe," Ryan told him. Brendon managed not to laugh.

"Don't get lost on main street," Brendon replied, and Ryan swatted at him. Ryan had once taken a wrong turn and ended up in a bookshop and they hadn't found him until three hours later. Spencer had scolded him loudly. That had been last year.

Brendon ran back all the way to the house. Summerlin was waking up and he passed people on the way to work. His father was already long gone by the time Brendon came back to the house.

"Good morning, mother," Brendon said. His mother was sitting in the kitchen, mending clothes.

"Brendon, where have you been?"

Brendon shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said. "I've just come to say good bye."

"Good bye?" His mother looked pale and worried. "Brendon, what do you mean?"

Brendon leaned in to give her a hug. "I'm leaving."

"Brendon," she said, her voice breaking, but Brendon shook his head.

"Please don't," he said gently. "I ..." He faltered. "I'm not meant for this life." He gestured at the door. "And," he added, "I need to find Spencer."

"I wish you wouldn't," his mother said quietly. "But I can't stop you.

He kissed her cheek. "I want to be happy," he said. "I don't think I can be happy here. Without him."

His mother looked said, but she let him go and pack his belongings. Brendon hadn't brought back much--most of his stuff was still on the Cobra. Thinking back now, he thought he'd made his decision right at the beginning and had just been too afraid of the consequences to go through with it.

But he felt light, relieved, and the depressed fog that had settled over him in the last few days lifted.

Brendon thought of Spencer's smile, the way it brightened his day, and how much he missed Spencer. It just strengthened his resolve.

Brendon hugged his mother tightly again before he left.

Outside Ryan and Jon were waiting. "We couldn't let you leave without saying good bye," Jon said.

"I'll be back," Brendon said.

Jon nodded. "Of course, you will." He hugged Brendon tightly. "Don't be a stranger."

Ryan just grinned. "Don't come back without him," he said.

Brendon replied, "I won't."

Brendon ran all the way to the landing spot. He was sure that he still had time until noon, but he didn't want to chance missing the Cobra leaving. And, he admitted to himself, he was missing the Cobras, as weird as they were, they had become his friends. He arrived out of breath, his chest pumping, to find everyone lounging in front of the Cobra.

Gabe waved at him. "Finally," he said, "I almost thought we had to leave without you."

Victoria grinned. "We were convinced that you'd come back to us yesterday."

"And by convinced, she means we all bet on it and she took the pool," Nate said.

Brendon sat down heavily on the ground next to Gabe. He couldn't suppress a giggle. "Are you going to share with me?"

"Nope," Victoria said. "Spoils for the winner and all that shit."

Brendon nodded. Slowly he regained his breath. He startled slightly when Gabe poked his ribs. "You still haven't said anything," Gabe pointed out. "This could just be a formal call."

"I can't live here," Brendon said, "not without Spencer."

Gabe just nodded. "Then let's go."

Brendon blinked as everyone immediately got up. "Wait, were you just waiting for me?"

Ryland shrugged. "Sure."

Brendon wanted to hug them all. He clung to Victoria a little, as much as she let him. As they prepared for take-off. Brendon waited on the bridge, looking at the maps. Alex came in and leaned over his shoulder.

"Do you want us to fly over the main roads," he asked, "so if we come across your boy, we can pick him up right away. If he's coming back."

Brendon shook his hand. "He's not coming back. He won't give up until he finds me."

Alex smiled. "Then we should get you back to Los Angeles, so he can."

Brendon thought, yes, please. When they took off, the Cobra lifting from the ground gracefully, his heart felt incredibly light.

 _Spencer_ , he thought, _just hold out a little bit longer. I'm coming for you._

~~~***~~~

"Hey." Spencer looked up and saw Bob standing in the entrance. He was grinning. "Did you know that nobody's in your shop right now?"

"Yeah," Spencer said, "they've all gone to deliver a steam engine." Spencer put down the lantern he was working on. Gerard was considering turning his lamp into a mass production and the task of figuring out the feasibility had fallen to Spencer. It was fun trying to see what Gerard had done with the lamp--his own explanation had been that he'd added that thing and removed that other thing, you'll know when you see it, and it had been less than useful. Spencer treated it like a treasure hunt. He'd once read a book about a pirate treasure and the riddles on the map compared quite favourably with Gerard's modification.

"Any idea when they'll be coming back?"

Bob stepped closer. For once he didn't seem to be in a hurry, which was rare enough that Spencer was surprised to see that he didn't immediately leave for his own shop again.

"No, unfortunately not." The Porters didn't live that far away, but it had taken Frank and Gerard two hours alone to get ready to leave, when fifteen minutes should've been enough. Spencer didn't count on them coming back anytime soon. "Maybe I can help you?"

"I wanted to check up on that propeller shaft. Gerard said last week he was almost done, and that usually means he'll finish within a day or two." At Spencer's raised eyebrow, he grinned. "Gee's like a dog with a bone. When he can see the end of his project, he can't stop working on it, but has to finish."

"Oh," Spencer said. The part was at the back of the workshop, covered with cloth. "He's not quite done yet. Something with the rudder was wrong, I think."

"I see." Bob was now standing next to Spencer, or actually he was leaning against the workbench. "Did he say what?"

"The alignment?" Spencer hesitated. "I'm sorry, I don't know much about airships. He doesn't have to rebuild anything, I think, he just has to abrade something?"

"Yeah, that makes sense." Bob seemed entirely at peace.

"I--no, surely not." Spencer looked down as Bob looked up at him. His cheeks were heating up and he resolutely concentrated on putting his screw drivers into order, sorted by length.

"Surely not what?"

"You wouldn't ... want to explain about the alignment? I asked Gerard, but he-" Spencer gestured wildly. "He's not very good at explaining details. But you're probably busy."

Bob grinned. "Brian's doing inventory," he said. "There's no place I'd like to be less than my garage right now."

Spencer was startled into a laugh. "That bad, huh?"

"Worse." Bob shrugged. "Anyway, I have time to answer some questions."

Spencer picked up the lantern again. Now that he could ask his questions, he didn't know where to start. "Why's the rudder so important?"

Bob hopped up on the workbench next to Spencer's. "The rudder controls its movement--if it's out of alignment, there's going to be more wear and tear on the entire engine. Also you can't steer it as well." He pointed to the piece Gerard had been working on. "That one's a modification that will allow the ship to go faster."

"But can't you just buy a faster ship?"

Bob laughed. "Sure. But some people don't want everyone to know how fast their ship theoretically could go."

"But isn't that illegal?" Spencer had heard about some laws that were regulating air traffic. He didn't think that they'd just allow everyone to go as fast as they wanted to.

"The modification of the part isn't," Bob said. "Putting it into the ship isn't. Flying the ship? Maybe." He shrugged. "It's not my job to police what's going on. But they pay well, which is all I care about."

Spencer nodded. "Have you ever worked on a really big airship?" Spencer could see them sometimes, passing over Los Angeles. They were majestic and huge. Spencer had heard that the biggest ones could carry over a thousand people. The ships seemed slow compared to the smaller vessels, but they could still go very fast. Spencer wished a ticket to an airship was less expensive. He longed to see what it was like, so high above the ground, _flying_.

"No," Bob said. "I specialise in vessels with less than a million cubic feet capacity. Most of my clients own ships with up to 250,000 cubic feet."

"So, mostly private transportation, I guess?"

Bob nodded. "There are a few merchants who don't need a huge freighter, but yeah, most of the ships I work on are just for transportation." He laughed. "One day the sky will be too crowded with airships to see the sun."

Spencer grinned. "That could happen."

Spencer put down the lantern, which he'd been tinkering with to keep up at least the pretence that he was at work, and suddenly he was struck by an epiphany. Bob was an airship mechanic. Saporta owned an airship, an airship that needed to go really fast sometimes. Bob had mentioned having merchants for customers--the most consistent story Spencer had heard about Saporta was that he took on odd jobs of transporting stuff. Spencer carefully turned around. How likely was that even? Not very, Spencer guessed, but trying couldn't hurt.

"If it's an urgent part, I can tell Gerard."

Bob waved at him. "Nah, it's just that the customer's in town again, and at some point he'll probably want me to install it."

"Are your clients out of town often?" Spencer asked carefully nonchalant, like he didn't really care about the answer.

Bob shrugged. "Some of them are." He squinted at the floor next to Spencer's feet. "They're merchants, as I said." His voice was bland.

Spencer didn't let that put himself off. He tried to word his next question more carefully. "Do they travel far? How far can such a small airship travel actually?"

"I don't check where my customers go, unless they need me to go there and fix their ship." Bob glanced at Spencer. Spencer didn't think he was very good at subterfuge. "But it depends on how much fuel you can take with you. The airship will float on its own, but you need the engines to steer and to help with landing."

"Oh, I see." Spencer was quiet for a moment, then he decided to dare it. "But it would, for example, be possible to go to Chicago?"

Bob gave Spencer a long look before he answered. "Yeah," he said. "Theoretically most ships can do that."

"How many people usually live on such a ship? A merchant ship, I mean."

Bob didn't look away and he started to frown. "Depends," he said. "Some captains get along with one mate, others need five more people for the same ship."

Spencer decided to try a different route. "And there's enough business here?" he asked. "I didn't think many private people, apart from merchants, could afford an airship."

"They're pretty cheap, when you know where to get them," Bob said. "I've got enough customers to get by well." He shrugged. "I know a lot of people and Gee keeps recommending me to people, so it all works out. People at the docks know me, too."

Spencer nodded. "So you know a lot of the smaller airship captains around here?" He tried to carefully neutral, but Bob was frowning, so Spencer didn't think he had succeeded.

"Some." Bob was much less talkative now. He started to shift on the bench he was sitting on. Spencer figured he'd just have to try.

"You wouldn't happen to know a guy named Saporta, I guess." Spencer glanced at Bob, but his face gave nothing away.

"Nope, sorry," he said, and Spencer almost believed him.

The old grandfather clock Frank had insisted on putting up in the workshop because Gerard habitually forgot to check his pocket watch, chimed loudly. Bob looked at it and sighed. "Sorry, but I gotta go now. Tell Gee I said hi, and I'll be back next week, unless he's got something for me."

"I'll tell him," Spencer promised. He looked at Bob's retreating back, as he left. He felt elated and nervous. He didn't know whether he was reading too much into Bob's reactions, but the way he'd looked at Spencer and how he'd immediately left was just ...

Spencer forced himself to take a deep breath. It was just one lead of many, he told himself. He didn't have any proof that Bob actually knew Saporta. He might just have another client who was involved in less than clandestine affairs. It didn't have to mean anything.

But it was the best lead Spencer had had in weeks. Down at the docks, the talk about Saporta hadn't brought any results. If anything, people were only wondering where Saporta was. It was apparently uncommon for him to be gone this long, but nobody seemed honestly worried.

Spencer couldn't help it. He felt more energetic than he'd been since the last time he went to the docks and came back empty-handed. It might be just Spencer imagining things, but at least now he had something to occupy his mind, something other than how he was failing Brendon by failing to find him.

Spencer hoped that he'd get a chance to see Bob again soon. He went back to work on lantern, humming quietly under his breath.

~~~***~~~

Brendon sat at what he thought of as his window and stared at the roads flying by underneath him. He thought it was weird going from the one being looked for to the one doing the looking. He was vibrating with unspent energy. Not unlike the flight back to Summerlin, Brendon wanted to just be _there_ already.

He thought it was rather fortunate that the trip only took a few hours because he didn't think he could've made it for much longer.

As soon as they landed, Brendon raced to the hatch. "Let's go," he said impatiently to Ryland. It seemed like everyone was moving extra slow just to annoy Brendon.

Victoria openly laughed at him. "Come with me," she said. She brought him into the large living room and pointed to the couch. "Sit." Brendon obeyed.

Victoria left the room, but she came back a few minutes later with an armful of maps. "You can't start looking for your boy without knowing where we are," she said. She unrolled a map.

Brendon blanched as he saw the city borders. "That--everything of that is Los Angeles?" He crouched over the map, tracing the thin lines with his finger.

"Yeah," Victoria said.

"It's bigger than I thought it was," Brendon admitted.

"The fucking city sprawls out," Gabe threw in. "In a few years there won't be an U.S.A., there'll only be Los Angeles."

Victoria rolled her eyes. "Gabe, go annoy someone else." Amazingly enough, Gabe actually left.

Brendon frowned at the map. His stomach felt tight as he thought of searching all those streets for one single person.

Victoria tapped the map once in the south. "We're here," she said. She tapped another area. "If he's come via Barstow, he should arrived somewhere here."

"But that was months ago," Brendon pointed out. "He could have moved on to anywhere else by now. Victoria, how am I supposed to find him." Brendon was a little bit desperate. It was possible that he hadn't really thought about this part of his plan.

Victoria laughed. "That's for you to figure out," she said. She patted his shoulder. "But I'm pretty sure you'll find him."

Brendon thought about how long Spencer'd been gone and how much money Spencer could have left by now. He didn't like the results he comes up with. "I don't think he'll have much money left by now. Where could he have gone?" he asked Victoria.

"Without money?" Victoria shrugged. "This city's pretty tough. He could be anywhere." She pointed out a few areas. "There are some shelters here. He could also be sleeping outside--here and here are parks."

Brendon groaned. "But that's still all of Los Angeles," he said plaintively. "Where should I start?"

Victoria shrugged. "I don't know. But don't wander around at random. Many of those quarters aren't that safe."

"But then they aren't safe for Spencer, either," Brendon pointed out.

"If he's come that far, he can take care of himself," she said.

Brendon felt a little bit offended that Victoria trusted Spencer, who she'd never even seen, to hold his own in a fight, but she thought that Brendon needed to be babysat. But even he had to admit that Victoria was right. Brendon was no good in a fight. The few times fights had broken out at the club, Brendon had done the sensible thing and gone as far as possible away from the fighters.

"It's getting late," he said, frowning, as he noticed the long shadows the afternoon sun caused.

Victoria snorted. "We sure as hell won't let you wander the streets of L.A. at night," she said.

Brendon spent the entire evening sitting over maps, trying to figure out where to start. He tried to decide on a route, but then Victoria gave him maps of the individual quarters and Brendon's heart sank. There were so many likely places and there were all so far apart from each other. Brendon thought that he'd need at least two weeks to visit them all. It wasn't a happy prospect and he slept badly that night.

The next morning he stared at the maps grumpily. He had to start somewhere, choose one of these routes he planned out and just go.

Ryland came by. "What's your plan of attack, little man?" he asked.

Brendon sighed. "I wish I had one." He pointed at the map. "I don't know whether I should try and retrace his steps or just start with the place he's most likely staying with now."

Ryland patted his shoulder. "You'll figure it out."

"Yeah," Brendon sighed again. Sighing felt like a very appropriate reaction to the whole mess.

There was a racket in the backyard and Brendon got up to investigate. Next to the Cobra there was a huge pile of boxes. Brendon looked into one and found it was empty.

"What's this?" he asked.

"We're going to pick up supplies," Alex replied.

"Again?" They had picked up some stuff in Summerlin, Brendon knew.

Alex shrugged. "We go through a lot of stuff," he said.

Brendon nodded. "I'll start looking for Spencer," he declared. He just had to start somewhere. Sooner or later he'd find Spencer. He grabbed one of his maps at random and left the house.

It was route #5. By pure luck it happened to be the one that included all the shelters in their current neighbourhood. Brendon walked the streets, looking his fill. Los Angeles was different than Chicago, but no less fascinating. The smells alone made Brendon look forward to spending some time exploring the city.

He felt good exactly until he reached his first destination. Nobody had seen anyone like Spencer around. It would have been foolish to think he'd find Spencer on his very first day, Brendon told himself, but it didn't feel like comfort.

"No luck?" Victoria was sympathetic. Brendon shook his head. "Maybe tomorrow."

The next day Brendon chose his route with care. He decided to follow Spencer's step. He needed someone who had actually seen Spencer. If he knew where Spencer had been, it would be much easier to find him.

"I'll go with you," Nate said.

"No," Brendon replied. "You're busy with stuff. I have to do this myself."

"Are you sure you can find his way back?"

Brendon wasn't completely sure about that, but he nodded anyway. He didn't want to have someone dogging him the entire day. It took him four hours to reach his first destination. He'd figured that if he started at the point where Spencer had been first, he'd have more chances of success.

There was a local market, and the streets were full of people. It was difficult to find his way around, but Brendon was happy to see so many people. If someone had seen Spencer, they surely must be here.

Some farmers were already putting away their stands, having sold all their wares. Brendon started with the closest one. "Hello!" he said. "Are you from here?"

"No," the farmer answered grumpily. He ignored all further attempts from Brendon to start a conversation. Brendon's face fell. He tried again and again, but most people were only here for the market.

"I'm sorry," the woman he was currently talking to said, "but I only go to L.A. once a week for the market."

"Thank you, anyway," Brendon said. "I'm glad that you're talking to me to begin with."

It was very difficult to find people who wanted to talk to Brendon. Many shied away from him. It was very demotivating.

"You can't blame them," she said. "Many people have something to hide, and anyone who asks too many questions is not to be trusted. Not everyone who comes looking for someone is their friend."

"Oh," Brendon said. "But I really am looking for a friend."

She smiled at him. "If you don't give up, you'll find him. Most of the debt collectors or bounty hunters don't come back or stay for long."

Brendon returned her smile, but he found very little hope in the fact that he might have to ask the same people again and again until they believed him. He went home, feeling disillusioned.

No one was in the house. Brendon was relieved--he didn't feel like company at the moment. The Cobra was still firmly tethered to the ground in the backyard. Brendon went up to his room. He spread his maps around on the floor. He'd put little markers on the places he'd wanted to visit. It seemed like there were so many and yet the city seemed so big.

Brendon bit his lip. "Spencer Smith, where are you?" he asked the maps. "Where should I look for you? How am I gonna find you?"

The maps couldn't offer him an answer, though. They remained silent, and the longer Brendon stared at them, the angrier he became. He lay down on the bed, spread-eagled, and sighed loudly.

Suddenly his room seemed stifling and he got up. He wandered through the house and wondered where everyone was. Maybe they were on the Cobra. Brendon hadn't announced his presence and if they were fixing the engine or the hull, they might not have heard him come back.

The Cobra sat in the backyard quiet and still. Brendon entered through the hatch. "Hello!" There was no answer. He walked to the lounge, calling again and again. But the Cobra was empty. Brendon sat down on the bridge at the steering wheel. The wide window in front of him only gave him a view of the rather wild yard. His mother would never have let that happen--she was pedantic about an orderly garden. Brendon sighed and leaned back in the seat. In a moment of inattention he kicked up his feet. The loud scrunching sound made the blood freeze in his veins.

"Oh, no, no." Brendon jumped up quickly and looked at the damage. A gear shift was broken off and the glass on one of the meters was shattered. "Oh god, no." Brendon frantically tried to put the gear shift back, but he had no idea where it belonged and the glass had to be replaced completely.

Brendon shrank back until he hit the chair. "Fuck," he said. He'd broken the Cobra. Gabe would be furious with him. He would throw Brendon out. Brendon didn't have any money--he'd refused to take any money from Pete and Patrick and he'd given all his savings to Jon, his gift for the new-born baby.

Suddenly there was noise inside the house. Brendon did what any sensible person did when they were panicking: he ran. He ran from the bridge and found, by accident, the storage closet where he'd spent his first night on the Cobra. He sat down in the corner and pressed close against the wall. He rubbed his face. God, this wasn't his day.

The closet was cold, the floor hard and uncomfortable. Brendon shifted a little bit, but his ass hurt and his back protested the way he was crouching. After a while he started to feel ridiculous, hiding in the closet like a small child who'd done something wrong.

The Cobra was still quiet when Brendon opened the door, but from the house he heard music. His chest hurt, as he slowly went back to the house. Everyone was in the music room and Brendon hovered in the entrance.

"Hey!" Gabe waved at Brendon. "There you are."

"We thought you'd got lost," Victoria said. She was bent over her keytar.

Brendon shook his head. He shuffled his feet. Gabe threw his arm around Brendon's shoulders, holding him close. "What's up, B? You look like your cat died."

Brendon swallowed heavily. "Um." He didn't know what to say. "Please don't kick me out," he said.

Gabe raised his eyebrows. "Dude, because you're looking for your love? I'm not that heartless."

"No, I--the Cobra." Brendon kept his eyes downcast. He tried to shift, but Gabe kept him in a vice-like grip.

"What did you do?" Gabe sounded rather amused. "It's still here, right?"

"Yeah," Brendon said. "But," he swallowed again, "um, I, uh, broke something."

Gabe blinked. "So what?"

Brendon looked at Gabe, frowning. "I broke _your ship_ ," he stressed.

Gabe waved lazily. "We break shit all the time. What's it this time?"

"Um, something on the dashboard."

Alex laughed. "As long as you don't wreck the engine permanently, we can take care of that."

Gabe squeezed Brendon. "Ryland breaks off the brake every other time he uses it. It's why we don't let him fly anymore."

"Oh," Brendon said. He felt relief.

"And that's what got you so upset?" Gabe was laughing. "If I kicked you out for that, I'd have to kick everyone else out, too." He patted Brendon's head.

"It wasn't a very good day," Brendon said.

"No luck?"

Brendon shook his head.

Gabe patted his head. "I guess I'll have to take your mind off it then," he said. "Tomorrow you're coming with me on some errands."

"I can't waste any time," Brendon whined.

"One day won't make a difference," Victoria said.

"But-"

Gabe interrupted Brendon. "You don't have any money to pay for the repairs," he said. "Least I can make you do is unpaid manual labour."

Brendon sighed. "If you put it like that." He didn't feel good about stopping his search so shortly after starting it.

Gabe let got of him. "Come on, make some music with us." He pushed Brendon toward the upright piano. The keys were cool under Brendon's fingers and the familiar motions of playing relaxed Brendon.

"Where are we going tomorrow?" he asked.

"We got to pick up some parts for the Cobra," Alex said. "Hey, didn't you want to meet our mechanic?"

"Yes." Brendon had been asking so many questions that Alex occasionally had sent him away, annoyed and too busy. The prospect of getting to find out more about airships lifted Brendon's spirit. The next day was looking up.

~~~***~~~

Spencer was looking for a chance to go by Bob's shop, but he got a lucky break a few days after Bob's visit.

"I'm done with Bob's thing," Gerard announced. He was already sketching details for his next workpiece. "Frank, Spencer, can you bring it over?"

"Sure!" Frank was always up on visiting Bob, and right now he bounced up and down.

Spencer grinned at him. "You just don't want to work on the lanterns anymore," he said. Spencer and Frank were currently fine-tuning the set-up for the production of the lantern. Frank was epically bored by trying out different ways to efficiently do the soldering for the design. Patience, Spencer had learnt, was not one of Frank's virtues.

Frank got the carriage ready. Gerard tried to help them them store the propeller shaft, but he was just in the way. "Gerard, please go away," Spencer said. Gerard obediently stepped away and let Frank and Spencer handle it. Within a few minutes, they had the shaft fastened securely. The carriage was humming underneath its burden.

Frank grinned. "Let's go bother Bob." Spencer laughed.

Spencer had ridden with the carriage before and he was still amazed at the speed and comfort. They drove in the middle of the street. "Aren't there laws for this?" Spencer asked.

Frank shrugged. "Probably," he said. Spencer admired Frank's recklessness. It was, however, much more enjoyable when he didn't try to get them killed.

"Look at the road!" Spencer yelled.

Frank steered to the right lane just as the horse carriage was about to hit them. "You need to calm down."

"You need to drive better."

Spencer was very happy when they arrived at the garage. It hadn't taken them very long, which Spencer appreciated.

"Hey!" Frank hollered when they entered the garage. "Delivery for you!"

A guy Spencer didn't know came to them. "Hi Frank," he said. "Fucking finally, Bob's been waiting for this."

"Well, Brian, good work needs time." Frank shrugged, but he was grinning.

"All right, put it there," Brian pointed to the corner of the garage, "and give me the bill."

Brian helped them carry the part. Although Spencer assured him that Frank and he could handle it, Brian insisted on helping. "That thing's fucking expensive," he said, "I'd rather you didn't break it now."

Spencer shrugged. The customer was king, he'd learned. As long as they didn't mind waiting a few weeks. "I'll take the rear end."

Brian pointed out to them where he wanted the propeller shaft to go, and they got it situated quickly. Spencer checked that it was standing securely.

"Thank you," Brian said. He was already moving back towards the big garage door. "If you give me the bill, I'll pay it at once and then you can leave."

"What?" Frank protested. "I haven't even seen Bob yet." He sidestepped Brian, moving toward the back of the garage. "And you know how much my happiness depends on me being able to annoy Bob." Frank grinned. "So where's your wayward husband?"

Brian sighed. "He's really fucking busy." He looked back at the clock.

"I'm here." Bob was looking around the corner from what seems to a smaller workshop. "Hi Frank!" He sound resigned to his fate.

"Bobert!" Frank practically launched himself at Bob. Bob took it stoically. Spencer suppressed a grin and nonchalantly shrugged at Brian, _what can you do, kids will be kids_ , before he walked over to Frank and Bob.

"Bob," Brian said warningly. "You know you have customers coming by soon."

"Yeah, yeah," Bob replied. "I know." He pulled Spencer and Frank into his workshop, closing the door behind them.

"Don't mind Brian," he said. "He's just grumpy today."

"Aww, bad night?" Frank asked. "Do I need to explain to you again how you need to pleasure a man?"

"Frank," Bob said darkly, but Frank just giggled. Spencer grinned.

"You don't know how to pleasure a man, either."

Frank swatted at Spencer. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

Frank and Bob caught up with each other. Spencer listened carefully, in case Bob let something slip, but then his attention was caught by a schematic design of an airship. "So you're going to put the new shaft here?" He pointed to the back part of the ship.

Bob came over and nodded. "Yeah. I figure it'll give the ship more stability, you know?"

Spencer hummed. "I can see how that could work."

A knock on the door interrupted them. Brian was standing in the frame and glaring at them. "Hey, your customers are here." He frowned at Frank and Spencer. "Hey, come with me, I'll pay you."

Bob sighed and turned to Frank and Spencer. "It was nice catching up with you guys, but now I gotta go back to work."

The garage was empty, and an unfamiliar carriage was parked in front. They could hear the sound of a conversation from the office, closed off at the back, but it was too quiet to understand anything. Spencer really wanted to know who was in there, but Brian led them away from the office, toward the front.

Frank stopped. "Spence, do you have the bill?"

Spencer did, indeed, have the bill. Ray had given it to him with strict orders not to let Frank touch it, because Frank was notorious for always losing the bills. "Here you go," he said and handed it over to Brian. He noticed that Frank was slowly creeping toward the office.

Bob put himself between Frank and the office, though, so that Frank bumped into him. "What the fuck's going on, guys?" he asked angrily. "Normally you make me sign shit, like delivery received, and now you're all secretive." He looked accusingly at Bob. "You've never treated me like this before, just because one of your special customers were here." He sounded truly hurt, and Bob sighed.

Spencer shifted uncomfortably. The atmosphere had turned cold, and he was sure it was his fault. "Frank," he started, but Frank was having none of it.

"No, Spence, I want them to explain this bullshit!" He was yelling, glaring at Bob and Brian. "What is this fuckery, guys, do you really think-"

"Frank!" Spencer yelled louder than Frank. "Let it be."

Suddenly there was a scuffle in the office. They all turned to look over in time to see the door bang open and then ... there was Brendon.

Spencer stared. He was pretty sure he was hallucinating. It couldn't be Brendon. That was just ... too much coincidence. It couldn't be.

The Brendon-apparition took a step closer to Spencer. "Spencer?" He sounded exactly like Brendon, the little tilting question mark at the end, and he sounded hesitant and nervous and he was looking at Spencer with big surprised eyes. He looked exactly like Spencer was feeling, startled and hopeful, and fuck, Spencer couldn't believe it.

"Brendon?" Spencer's voice was hoarse and low. He felt lightheaded like all the blood in his body was rushing to his head.

"God, it's you, it's really you." The Brendon-apparition barrelled straight into Spencer and Spencer caught him out of yearlong habit. It felt like Brendon, running hotter than normal people, and underneath his soap he smelt the same, and Spencer realised with a start that he wasn't dreaming. This was real, Brendon was real, he had _found_ him.

"Brendon," Spencer said quietly. He had his arms wrapped tightly around Brendon, hanging on for dear life. He thought he must be hugging Brendon too tightly, but Brendon didn't complain. Spencer still couldn't quite believe it. He had been hoping for this for so long and to have it fall into his lap just by accident ...

"I've been looking for you," Brendon said. His voice was rough, too, and the way he was looking at Spencer made Spencer's skin tingle.

"I've been looking for you, too," Spencer managed.

"I know. It's why I came here." Brendon was clinging to him tightly, his hands fisted into Spencer's shirt. Spencer was sure he was crushing Brendon, but he couldn't make his arms relax to give Brendon more space. Instead he pulled Brendon in even closer.

"What the fuck's going on here?" Brian asked after a few moment of startled silence from everyone.

"Oh fuck, that's your Brendon?" Frank said. He sounded positively giddy, and Spencer thought that if he looked over, he could see Frank bouncing up and down or climbing Bob. He couldn't look away from Brendon, though.

Brendon was currently giggling, his breath hot against Spencer's skin. "Your Brendon?" he asked, but he was smiling when he looked up at Spencer.

Spencer felt hot and cold. He hoped he was doing the right thing. "Yes," he said quietly. "My Brendon."

Brendon pressed his face against Spencer's neck and Spencer could feel his smile. "I like that," Brendon said. It was all he said, but his tone was--Spencer got goose bumps just thinking about the possibility that Brendon possibly could truly be his.

"Brendon," Spencer said plaintively. He thought he needed to extend his vocabulary, but at the moment all he could think of was Brendon. BrendonBrendonBrendon was running through his mind and he couldn't bring himself to care.

"That's fucking sweet!" Frank exclaimed. His language stood in so much contrast to his statement that laughter bubbled up in Spencer. His heart grew wide and large, when Brendon joined in, progressing from quiet giggles to loud guffaws.

"I can't believe I've finally found you," Spencer said. "I had almost lost all hope of ever seeing you again."

"I went back to Summerlin," Brendon said, "but you weren't there."

"Why didn't you stay?"

"You weren't there, stupid," Brendon said gently. Spencer's heart stopped and he had to focus on breathing in and out.

"And you left?" Spencer was stunned. "For me?"

Brendon smiled. "You're my Spencer," he said quietly. "If you want to be."

Spencer touched his forehead to Brendon. The world was swirling all around him, and he felt so light he thought he could fly. "Always," he whispered. "It's always been you and me."

Brendon smiled.

The happy feeling evaporated rather quickly when Spencer finally looked up and saw a guy and a woman standing next to Bob at the office entrance. He startled, when he recognised the guy as Gabe Saporta. He had made Jon describe Saporta in detail to him. Immediately he pulled Brendon even closer to him, ignoring Brendon's startled yelp. "What is he doing here?" he asked angrily and glared at Gabe who just laughed at him.

Brendon twisted around. Then he sighed and turned back to Spencer. "Gabe brought me back," he said. "Don't be mad at him."

"He brought you back?" Spencer was confused. "But I thought-"

Brendon put his hand over Spencer's mouth. "It turns out that a lot of things are lies. I'm fine." He leaned in close and whispered into Spencer's ear, "I'll explain everything later."

"As touching as this scene is," Brian said, "I want someone to explain to me what the fuck's going on my garage right now."

Gabe sighed exaggeratedly. "A few weeks ago-"

"Months," Spencer said darkly. "Almost three months ago."

"A little while ago," Gabe continued. Spencer had to admire him a little bit for his sheer bravado. "We picked up that little guy." He pointed to Brendon. "Without knowing what mess he was in."

"Hey, my life was all right," Brendon protested. The woman snorted. "Oh, shut up, Victoria," Brendon said. She just grinned.

"And then there were shenanigans," Gabe concluded.

Brian rubbed his forehead. "That," he said, "is not an explanation."

"They're in love," Frank yelled gleefully. "End of story." Spencer sighed. "Fuck off, Gee will love that shit."

That, Spencer had to admit, was probably correct.

"Anyway," Gabe said. "Where are my parts?"

Bob went with Gabe and Victoria, while Brendon stayed with Spencer. Spencer was aware that he hadn't stopped touching Brendon yet, and that they were moving rapidly past decent and appropriate behaviour, but it was Brendon. In his arms. Spencer still had a little difficulty processing that.

"Gabe's good people," Brendon said quietly. They were sitting down against the wall, their sides touching. Brendon's head was on Spencer's shoulder, and they were holding hands.

"Where were you?"

"Chicago." Brendon grinned. "It was fun. You would have liked it." He laughed. "Although Pete would have driven you insane."

"Please tell me all about it." Spencer rubbed his thumb on Brendon's hand. "I want to hear all about it."

"Later I will," Brendon promised. "But where have you been?" He looked at Frank who was watching the two of them with unhidden glee. "What's up with him?"

"Oh god," Spencer said. "I work for him."

"You do?" Brendon sounded both surprised and pleased.

"Yeah, I ran out of money." Spencer could admit this to Brendon without shame. "And Gerard and Frank took me in." He smiled. "I think you're going to like Gerard. He likes to build new things."

"That sounds pretty awesome," Brendon agreed.

Spencer was about to ask for more stories about Chicago, when Victoria came over. "Hey, B," she said. "What do you want to do?"

Brendon turned to Spencer. "Do you have to go back to work?"

"I don't know," Spencer said. He plainly didn't know how to go on from here. Now that he had Brendon, where did they go from here?

"I'll take them back," Frank said. He appeared next to Victoria. He gave her the address of the shop while Brendon said good bye to Gabe. "We're totally gonna have a party tonight," Frank said. "Just come by."

The ride back to the shop was quiet, with Brendon leaning against Spencer. Frank kept grinning at them, but Spencer couldn't mind.

Gerard looked at them with big eyes, when they entered shop. Mostly because Frank came in yelling, "we've found Spencer's love!"

Brendon laughed. "I'm Brendon."

Gerard grinned widely. "Welcome here!"

"By the way, I invited some people for a party," Frank said in passing.

Gerard beamed. "Of course, we have to celebrate this."

Spencer had, maybe, thought that he could get a minute alone with Brendon, but now everyone seemed intent on monopolising Brendon. The guys kept asking him about Spencer, and Brendon, to Spencer's dismay, actually answered their questions. They didn't get any work done that afternoon, and it only got worse then the Cobras, as Brendon kept calling them, arrived in the evening with booze and even more booze.

"Who needs food when you have beer?" Gabe said, and that was the end of it.

Brendon never moved far away from Spencer, and Spencer did the same. They were touching most of the time. Spencer was surprised to find that Brendon had been drinking while he was away. He himself felt the effect of the alcohol clearly. He wrapped his arms around Brendon to hold himself steady.

"Hey," Brendon said quietly. He was smiling and pushed Spencer's hair out of his face. "You all right?"

"I'm golden," Spencer said. "I'm great. You're here." He pressed his forehead against Brendon's temple. "You're here," he repeated quietly. Brendon sighed contently. "Please never leave me again," Spencer added. The alcohol had made him lose his inhibitions. He felt cut open and obvious, begging Brendon to stay.

"I won't," Brendon said quietly. "I want to stay with you."

"I don't want you to marry a girl," Spencer said. The words felt heavy on his tongue, but he felt the need to say them. "I don't want you to marry anyone. But me." He swallowed heavily. "Please marry me," he whispered. "I don't want to lose you again."

In his arms Brendon had gone still and for a moment Spencer had the horrible, dreadful conviction that Brendon was going to say, _oh, sorry, but I figured out I don't want to marry at all_. But then Brendon leaned up on his toe tips and he brushed a shy and hesitant kiss against Spencer's lips. "Yes," he whispered, just as quietly as Spencer had spoken. "Yes, yes, yes." Each word was punctuated by another kiss and Spencer was--he was happy and elated and really drunk, he realised.

"I love you," he said, just to test out the words. Brendon laughed.

"I love you, too," he said, and the tight knot in Spencer's chest finally dissipated entirely and he held on to Brendon and twirled him around.

"Hey, hey," Frank called. "What's going on?"

Spencer just laughed. Brendon joined him. "Nothing," he finally managed. "I have found my love." The statement felt big and wide, and Spencer smiled. "I have found my love."

Brendon leaned against him and said, "we have found our love." That, Spencer thought, summed up the situation pretty well.

~~~***~~~

  


  
_Epilogue_   


Brendon fiddled with his bow tie. He hoped it was straight--his hands were shaking and this was the best he could do.

Ryan wandered into the room, calm and self-assured, and Brendon hated him a little bit. He wished he could be as put together as Ryan. But then, it wasn't Ryan who was getting married today.

"Your bow tie's crooked," Ryan said. He frowned at Brendon. "Did no one ever teach you how to properly tie it?"

Brendon shook his head. "Of course, I know how to. It's just." He shrugged. He felt like he was going to jitter out of his skin. He didn't realise he was tapping his thumb against his leg until Ryan stepped up to him and grabbed his hand.

"Wait, let me," Ryan said. He quickly undid the bow tie. Brendon closed his eyes while Ryan retied it, trying to concentrate on his breathing. Jon had told him that when he'd gotten married to Cassie, his mother had told him to take deep breaths to calm himself down. It was working a little bit, but Brendon's stomach was still all in knots.

"He's just as nervous as you are," Ryan said. "If that's any consolation." He wasn't looking at Brendon's face, fingers still busy with Brendon's bow tie.

Brendon couldn't help but smile. "It is," he said quietly. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. His suit was simple and the bow tie had been a present from Patrick. He thought he looked good, that everything was all right. He didn't know what suit Spencer was wearing. Ryan had expressly forbid to check out each other's clothes. "I've made sure you match," was all they'd gotten out of him.

Brendon felt only a little bit nervous about letting Ryan decide what he was wearing for his wedding day.

"My wedding day," he whispered. Ryan hummed. "Ryan, I'm getting married today."

He still couldn't quite believe it. Ryan grinned. "You better get married today," he said, "because I didn't go through all this trouble for you to leave Spencer standing alone at the altar."

Brendon felt nervous giggle bubble up in his chest and he couldn't stop it from spilling out. The giggles soon turned into laughter and he had to lean against Ryan not to fall over.

Ryan just patted his back. "Please get the hysterics over with now," he said. "That wouldn't make a good impression in front of the priest."

Brendon sank down on the chair in front of the mirror. "I'm getting married," he said again.

"I take everything back," Ryan said. "Spencer's not nearly this nervous. He just looks like he's going to throw up, but at least he still seems to have a grasp on reality."

"Is he sick?" Brendon got up, alarmed. "If he doesn't feel well-"

"Oh god, sit back down." Ryan shook his head. "You're both hopeless," he said. "Spencer's not sick. He'll be fine. You'll be fine."

Brendon rubbed his face. "What if I do something wrong?"

Ryan snorted. "You stand in front of the altar and when the priest asks you, you say _I do_. It's difficult to mess that up."

"What if I mess up Spencer?" Brendon held his stomach. "What if-"

Ryan slapped the back of Brendon's head. Brendon looked up at him completely flabbergasted. "Stop it," Ryan said forcefully. "You won't." He sat down in front of Brendon and looked at him seriously. "Brendon, that's your nerves talking. Everything's going to be all right."

"But-"

There was a knock on the door and Jon stuck his head inside. "Hey Ryan, Spencer's asking for you."

"Then I'll better hurry," Ryan said. When he was at the door, he looked back once more. "Stop worrying," he said. "You're perfect for each other."

Ryan left, but Jon stayed. "Nervous?"

Brendon nodded mutely. He stared at his hands. He'd stayed at his parents' house last night, and his mother had prepared the bath for him. He wondered whether it had made her sad--Brendon had had the backup plan to stay with Ryan or Jon, if his parents had refused to let him spend the nights before the wedding in his family's house. All his siblings had only left the house after their wedding, and Brendon had intended to keep the tradition as best as he could.

He wished he had had the courage to ask her to stay with him this morning. "I'm scared," he admitted.

Jon patted his head. "When I was getting married to Cassie," he said, "I was nervous I almost fainted."

Brendon smiled. "Now that would have been stupid," he said. "You can't say your vows if you faint."

"No," Jon agreed. "So you better stay awake and alert all the way through, too."

There was another knock on the door. Spencer's father smiled at them. "It's time," he said and Brendon felt his stomach plummet down to his feet.

"We're coming," Jon said.

Spencer's father held out his hand to Brendon and pulled him in for a quick hug. "It's time to welcome you to the family," he said. Brendon was glad he also had Jon to cling to--he wasn't sure he would have managed the stairs all by himself.

"Ready?" Spencer's father asked, but he smiled like he already knew Brendon's answer.

"I have to be, don't I," Brendon whispered. They went to the front of the church. The door was wide open and everyone had already gone to sit in the pews. Spencer's mother was waiting for them.

"He's already inside," she said. She leaned down to brush a kiss against Brendon's cheek.

Brendon felt his insides jump up and down. They went inside. Spencer was standing off to the side of the entrance. He was smiling and he looked absolutely wonderful in his dark suit and his tie. Brendon returned his smile.

Spencer's parents moved past them to the first row. Then the organist started playing and Spencer held out his hand.

"Walk with me, please?" Spencer asked quietly. Brendon took his hand, holding on too firmly, but Spencer just squeezed back gently. Spencer's hand was cold and sweaty. Brendon's heart skipped a beat and he thought, _he's just as nervous as I am_. He immediately felt relieved and smiled at Spencer.

Then they started walking toward the altar. Brendon thought that it couldn't be more than fifty steps at most, but it felt like miles.

"We have congregated here today," the priest started, "to join Spencer Smith and Brendon Urie. They will share their lives from now on, both the good and the bad days, laughter and tears." He gestured at them and Brendon and Spencer turned to face each other.

Most of what the priest said went straight over Brendon's head. They'd gone over the ritual a few days ago. Together Brendon and Spencer had picked out a psalm, the one they wished to guide their marriage, and the priest had patiently declared what they had to do.

Brendon was sure he nodded at the appropriate place, that he knelt and prayed and stood and sang, but it all swirled together in his head.

"Now I will perform the joining," the priest announced. "Spencer and Brendon have chosen each other for life, and this bond will continue until all eternity."

The priest took Brendon and Spencer's right hands. "It's now time to exchange the vows," he said. "Spencer James Smith, are you prepared to vow to take Brendon as your husband?"

"I am," Spencer said. His voice was firm, just the tiniest bit shaky and Brendon thought, _I love you_.

"I, Spencer James Smith, take you, Brendon, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part."

"Brendon Boyd Urie, are you prepared to vow to take Spencer as your husband?"

"I am," Brendon said. His throat was dry and he swallowed quickly before he continued. It wouldn't do for his voice to break half-way through the vow. "I, Brendon Boyd Urie, take you, Spencer, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part."

The priest put their hands together and draped a cloth around them. "Spencer and Brendon have taken their vows," he said, "and the vows have been heard. You are hereby joined as a loving couple."

The priest smiled. "May you find happiness in your joining."

The music started again, but Brendon only had eyes and ears for Spencer. Spencer whose eyes were so blue and looked so happy and who was smiling. "Husband," Spencer whispered, and Brendon couldn't help himself. He felt happiness bubbling up in him like nervous laughter.

"Husband," Brendon repeated, and then Spencer leaned in and kissed Brendon quickly. Brendon leaned into the kiss and for a moment he could forget everything around them.

They smiled stupidly at each other and then they turned around and faced their families and friends. Brendon only glanced at his parents quickly--their expressions were mostly resigned. At least his siblings had taken the news well. Brendon wished they could be happier for him, acknowledge that this was what he'd chosen to do. Spencer's family made up for it fortunately. Ginger Smith was beaming at them.

As they walked through the aisle, toward the open door, Brendon's heart grew light. They were joined now and no force on Earth could separate Spencer and him again.

"Let's have a party," Spencer said grinning.

Brendon laughed. "Onward to your abode," he said, and Spencer and he led the wedding party to Spencer's parents' house. The garden had been decked out with chairs and tables. Ginger had not allowed them to help. "It's your wedding," she'd said. "You'll have enough to do as it is."

The garden looked magnificent, though. Brendon hugged Ginger tightly. "This is wonderful, thank you," he said.

"Wait until you've seen the cake," Crystal said and she giggled with Jacqueline.

Brendon laughed. "I thank you for your son, too," he told Ginger. "Thank you for letting me have him."

Ginger smiled. "I don't think it's much 'letting' you--he was pretty adamant to have you in return."

Spencer blushed. "Well, I do have him now."

"Until all eternity," Brendon reminded him.

Spencer turned to look at him, and his smile took Brendon's breath away. "Yes," he said. "I know."

The twins laughed at them, but Brendon couldn't care less. He felt exceedingly happy, so light he was afraid that any second now he would float away. Ginger hushed them.

"Behave yourselves," she said. "Bring out the cake please, we don't want to keep the newlyweds waiting for their honeymoon any longer."

Brendon couldn't suppress a shy giggle. Spencer just sighed and put his around Brendon's shoulder. Brendon was acutely aware of Spencer's body heat, the run of his muscles underneath his clothes, and he felt very hot. The honeymoon included their wedding night, an event Brendon was both looking forward to and dreading.

"Don't worry," Spencer whispered, "it'll be fine."

Brendon had confessed his fears to Spencer a few days ago. As much as he wanted for them to consummate their marriage, he was afraid he'd turn out to be bad at it. Spencer had stroked his hair and kissed him gently. "I love you," he'd said, "and I wish to be with you whatever way I can. I don't need you to be good at everything. I just need you."

Brendon had relaxed afterwards, but by now his nervousness was back in full scale. Fortunately, the twins came with the cake, and all attention was diverted from Brendon.

The cake was simple, but magnificent. Brendon and Spencer carefully got the first piece, which they were going to share. Ginger took over to cut the remaining cake, while Brendon and Spencer sat down.

"This is wonderful," Brendon said through a mouthful of cake.

"You're disgusting," Spencer laughed. He moved closer to Brendon and slid his hand onto Brendon's thigh. Brendon stilled mid-chew. He could feel himself flush and grow uncomfortably warm.

Spencer smiled and he rubbed his fingers across the inside of Brendon's thigh. "I don't know why you're so afraid," he said. "I love kissing you--you know how I react to you." Brendon nodded. Their kissing had grown downright desperate lately, with them both wanting so much more. They had decided to wait for their proper wedding night, although Frank had laughed at them.

"I don't get why you'd make your lives so much harder," he'd said grinning. "Gerard and I fucked pretty much the second after he'd said yes."

"Frank!" had been the chorus sounding through the workshop.

Brendon had occasionally considered giving up and opening up for Spencer, when he'd been aroused and desperate from kissing, but in the end he'd cherished the thought of waiting, of giving this gift to Spencer in that special night, just as Spencer was giving the same gift to Brendon, too much.

Brendon nodded, his throat dry.

Spencer smiled. "I love you," he said. "Nothing is going to change that." He squeezed Brendon's thigh.

Brendon smiled back at him. "I know," he said softly. He leaned against Spencer. "I know."

"Then don't worry so much," Spencer said. "And now we have to sit through Ryan's toast." Spencer winked at him, and Brendon couldn't help it--he laughed. Ryan who'd just gotten up to speak looked over at them annoyed.

"Silence, please," Ryan said. "I'm about to hold a speech."

Both Brendon and Spencer dissolved into helpless laughter. But then Ryan did get to hold his speech.

The entire afternoon passed much faster than Brendon had considered possible. One minute he was eating cake and listening to speeches, the next it seemed Gabe appeared in a flash of multi-coloured clothing and a too loud voice. He'd offered to take them back to Los Angeles as a wedding gift.

Now that it was time to step on board of the Cobra and Brendon didn't feel prepared for married life at all. He hugged his mother tightly when he said good bye. "I wish you all the best," she said.

"Thank you," Brendon whispered back.

"He'll do right by you." Her voice only wavered a bit. Brendon closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I know." He stepped back and smiled. "We're happy."

"Don't let him wait," she said. "Not on your first night."

Spencer was just saying good bye to his sisters when Brendon found him. "We'll write," Spencer said. "As many letters as we can fit into our busy schedules."

Crystal swatted at Spencer's arm. "Don't mock us. Who will we tease when you're not around anymore?"

"Yourselves," Spencer said grinning. When he caught sight of Brendon, he held out his hand. "And there he is," he said brightly. "My husband."

Brendon laughed at that and he took Spencer's hand. "It's time to go."

Ginger pulled them both into a hug. "Be happy," she said. There was nothing to say in return.

The flight to Los Angeles was quiet. Gabe wolf-whistled when Brendon and Spencer came onboard, but otherwise he kept to the cockpit.

"I don't know what to do right now," Brendon admitted to Spencer, as they were standing in the lounge. The ship was humming underneath them.

"Play me some music," Spencer said. So Brendon did. He picked up the keytar--he'd grown strangely fond of the instrument and he planned to build one himself as soon as he could afford to. He played all the songs he'd learned in Chicago.

"I like this music." Spencer sat on the couch and he looked at Brendon fondly. "I think I'd like to go there one day."

"We can," Brendon said. He thought of Pete and Patrick, about spending time in the club, about being surrounded by music, but also having Spencer near him. "I'd like that," he added.

Spencer held out his hand. "Please, come to me." He pulled Brendon down next to him. Brendon settled against his side, his head on Spencer's shoulder.

"I'm happy you're with me," Brendon said.

"Me too," Spencer said. He stroked Brendon's back. The slow, regular motions were relaxing and Brendon's eyes fell closed. He tried to fight sleep, but to no avail.

Brendon woke up feeling disoriented. He was warm, and he recognised Spencer next to him. His slow breathing showed that he was still asleep. Brendon was wondering why he'd woken up when he noticed Gabe standing in the middle of the room.

"And here I was hoping to get an eyeful," he said sadly.

"Gabe." Brendon sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes.

"We're in L.A. Frank's outside with the carriage, ready to take you to your home."

"We'll be right down," Brendon said. He turned around to wake Spencer up, but found him already looking at Brendon.

"Hey," he said smiling.

"Hey," Brendon said. "Ready to go home?"

"As much as I'll ever be."

Frank waved at them. "Why do you have so much shit?" He pointed to the pile of gifts that was already in the back of the carriage.

"We got married, jerk," Spencer said. "People gave us presents."

Frank grinned. "To sweeten your faith or what?"

"You wish you had as beautiful a husband as I do," Spencer retorted.

Frank gave Brendon a contemplative stare. "I'd say he's even with Gerard."

"Gerard doesn't shower."

Frank waved Spencer's argument away. "That's only important if you care about that." He opened the door of the carriage. "And now get a move on, I want to go home."

Brendon laughed. "We're already coming."

Frank talked the entire drive to their new house. It was right across the street from Gerard's shop, and Brendon had fallen in love with it the first time he entered it.

Since they had been gone for a full week, Frank brought them up to date on the newest gossip.

"And Mrs Tyler's pregnant again," he said, just as they were pulling into their street.

"It's their what? Fifth?"

"Sixth," Frank said. "That takes some dedication." He pulled the carriage into the alley by the shop. "Since today's your wedding day, I'll even help you carry your shit to your house."

"Thank you," Brendon said.

"How nice of you," Spencer said.

Frank gave them both the finger. He still helped them, though.

"Home sweet home," Spencer said once they had closed the door behind Frank. Finally they were alone. Brendon stepped into the hallway and breathed in deeply. They had already finished furnishing the house, with the help of their friends. They hadn't slept here, though, but at Gerard's house, in separate rooms. Tonight was the first one they'd spend in their own bed together.

Spencer closed the door and then he hugged Brendon from behind. Brendon could already feel him growing hard against his ass, and his heart started to beat faster. Spencer seemed content to just hold Brendon, however, his arms wrapped around Brendon's middle, his hands pressed firmly against his belly.

Brendon relaxed against Spencer's chest, letting him keep them upright. "Our home," Brendon said. He could still hardly believed it.

"Our home," Spencer said. He pressed a kiss on Brendon's hair.

Brendon turned around and pressed close against Spencer. Their cocks were brushing, and he could hear Spencer gasp sharply. "I think it's time," he said softly.

Spencer kissed him, sweet and gentle. "All right," he said. "Then let's go upstairs."

Brendon had known that Spencer had made preparations for tonight. Their bedroom looked remarkably the same, though. He tugged at his suit awkwardly.

"Should I, should I undress now?" he asked timidly. Brendon want to touch Spencer, but he didn't know how to get there.

Spencer pulled him down on the bed fully clothed. "Let's just kiss for now."

"But-" Brendon started, but Spencer already kissed him.

"Don't think so much," Spencer whispered. "Just do what feels good."

Kissing felt good. Running his hands through Spencer's hair, pulling him in closer to kiss deeper, felt good. Sliding his hands underneath Spencer's shirt felt even better, although the suit jacket kept Brendon from exploring more skin. He whined quietly and Spencer laughed.

"Now we can undress," he said cheekily.

Brendon let Spencer tug off his jacket. He shuddered whenever Spencer's fingers brushed against his skin.

Spencer got up and carefully undressed. Brendon followed suit. Spencer even took care to properly fold his clothes and put them on the dresser. When Brendon just let his clothes fall where he stood, Spencer clucked his tongue and picked them up. "They'll be wrinkled come morning," he said.

Brendon giggled. Now that they were naked, he felt nervous again, his stomach full of butterflies. Spencer didn't make any moves to hide his erection and Brendon was torn between looking away and throwing himself at Spencer. "The clothes won't care," he pressed out.

"But I will," Spencer said. He finished putting their clothes away and turned to smile at Brendon. "And now I can focus on you."

"Oh," Brendon said, and he swallowed hard. The way Spencer looked at him made his skin tingle--his eyes were dark and Brendon could see the gentle curve of his cock. Brendon was suddenly uncomfortably aware that he was completely naked.

"Come to bed with me," Spencer said and that at least was something Brendon could do.

Brendon slid under the covers. Spencer pulled him in close and kissed him again. Brendon slid one hand into Spencer's hair, but he left the other on Spencer's upper arm. Spencer was rubbing small circles on Brendon's back.

"Relax," he whispered. "We'll take it slow."

Brendon nodded. "I trust you," he said, because Brendon did. He just couldn't make up his mind whether he wanted to rush things and have it over with or to take his time.

"I can see you thinking," Spencer said and he pressed a kiss against Brendon's jaw. "Stop that."

"Can't," Brendon gasped as Spencer gently bit his earlobe.

Spencer sighed and he pushed himself up on one elbow. He looked down at Brendon, one eyebrow raised. "I still don't understand why you're worrying so much," he said. "If it's not good now, we'll just keep doing it until it is."

"But I want it to be good now," Brendon said.

Spencer's face softened. "I know." He leaned down to kiss Brendon. "But if your kisses are any indication," he said, "it'll turn out good."

This time, when Spencer kissed Brendon, Brendon tugged a little. He just wanted to have Spencer closer, but Spencer lost his balance and he landed on top of Brendon. They both groaned when their cocks rubbed together.

"Fuck," Spencer said faintly. Brendon whimpered and Spencer kissed him deeply. "You feel good," he whispered.

Spencer's cock was hot and each time they brushed together, shudders went through Brendon's body. He thrust up instinctively. The friction felt _good_ and it became even better when Brendon slightly spread his legs, so Spencer could settle comfortably between them.

"God, so, so good," Spencer said. He laid down more firmly on Brendon, his weight increasing the friction, until Brendon became afraid this was going to end before they really started.

"Spencer," he panted. "I want ..." His voice broke slightly, as he bucked up helplessly.

"What do you want?" Spencer's voice was soft, and his breath ghosted over Brendon's face, and Brendon pawed helplessly at any part of Spencer he could reach. He grabbed Spencer's arms and held on tightly.

"You," Brendon said. "I want you."

Brendon wanted everything. He wanted to come now, he wanted to have Spencer in him, consummate their marriage like they should, and he never ever wanted it to stop.

Spencer leaned up and got a small tin from their night table. Brendon hadn't noticed it, but he couldn't recognise it.

"This is to ease, um, penetration," Spencer said.

"Oh," Brendon said.

Spencer kissed him once more. "If it hurts," he said, "or you don't like it or anything, please just tell me to stop, all right?"

Brendon nodded. "I will."

"Relax," Spencer whispered. He kissed Brendon deeply while he pushed Brendon's legs up so that he was hugging them to his chest. Brendon felt exposed, but the thought made him shudder with anticipation. From this angle, Spencer could reach Brendon's entrance.

The tin held an oily paste, which was cold on Spencer's finger, when he rubbed Brendon's entrance. Brendon made a face and Spencer immediately stopped.

"Is something wrong?" Spencer frowned and blushed. "I, uh, I asked Gerard for, um, you know, and he said this felt good?"

Brendon laughed. "It does. It's just cold." He grinned. "You asked Gerard for tips?"

Spencer shrugged. "I figured I should have at least some idea of what I was doing."

"You're doing great," Brendon said. "Awesome, even."

The paste warmed up quickly and the next time Spencer touched him, Brendon could relax into it. Spencer kissed him deep, pushing his tongue into Brendon's mouth, and Brendon was busy just enjoying that when Spencer pushed the first finger into him.

"You have to relax," Spencer said. Brendon was tense, but after a few deep breaths his muscles loosened up. Spencer's finger slid in deeper.

"How does it feel?" Spencer kissed Brendon's throat. "Please tell me."

"It's good," Brendon gasped. "It's-oh, do that again."

Spencer grinned. "Gee told me about that, too." He crooked his finger inside Brendon again, rubbing inside him, and Brendon shuddered.

"That's amazing. Do that again."

Spencer laughed at him, but he complied. Then he slid in another finger and it felt even better.

"Oof," Brendon said. His fingers were digging into Spencer's shoulders, as he pushed downward, against Spencer's fingers.

"You look amazing," Spencer told him. He was moving his fingers quickly and it was driving Brendon out of his mind. He was pressing himself against Spencer, hiking up his legs higher and higher to let Spencer get in deeper, not caring one bit about how wanton he must look.

"Spencer, please," Brendon panted. He felt on the brink and he wanted to at least feel Spencer inside him. "Spence, Spence, _please_."

"Shh," Spencer kissed him.

When he pulled out his fingers, Brendon whimpered. He watched Spencer get some more paste and move the tin back to their night table. He couldn't see Spencer coating himself, but then Spencer pressed up close against him. His cock felt much bigger than his fingers and Brendon tensed up again.

"Relaxing, relaxing," Brendon chanted before Spencer could even open his mouth.

"I was going to say that I love you," Spencer said, "but that works, too."

Brendon laughed. He thought that Spencer tell him these three words would never grow old or fail to make Brendon smile. "I love you, too," he said.

Spencer pushed his cock against Brendon's entrance, sliding in slowly. Brendon concentrated on his breathing and relaxing. Spencer's cock felt--good, for a lack of a better term. Brendon was shaking, overwhelmed by the feeling of being filled and _Spencer_ all around him.

When Spencer bottomed out, he stilled for a moment, letting them both adjust. "Fuck," he gasped. "Brendon, you feel so--you don't even know, you're so."

Brendon never learned what he was, because Spencer kissed him as he pulled out a little and thrust back in. Brendon rocked with him, pushing down on his cock, and he moaned. Soon they had a fast rhythm going.

Brendon had already been keyed up before, and he knew he wasn't going to last. Then Spencer started hitting that spot that had felt good before and which now became the sole center of Brendon's universe.

"Fuck, Spencer," he keened. "I'm gonna-"

Spencer wrapped one hand around Brendon's cock. Brendon shuddered at the contact. It wasn't like he'd never touched himself, but now it was Spencer and that made all the difference. He jerked Brendon two, three times, and then Brendon came with a shout. He could feel his come landing on his skin, hot spurts, and he shuddered. Spencer was still fucking him, faster and faster until his rhythm was faltering.

Brendon idly rubbed his hands over Spencer's back. His mind and body were still sluggish and he was quickly becoming sensitive. Each thrust of Spencer's almost hurt, bordering on the edge of too much. "Come on," he said, and his voice came out as a dark whisper. "Come on, Spence."

Spencer whimpered and he kissed Brendon hot and wet, as he came.

Afterwards they just lay there for a minute, catching their breath.

"That was ..." Brendon started, but couldn't actually finish his thought. His eyes were already drooping.

Spencer laughed. Brendon had the suspicion that he was laughing at Brendon, but he didn't care. "See, that wasn't so bad," he said.

Brendon failed his hand around and managed to hit Spencer's arm. "That was really good," he said sleepily.

"Told you," Spencer said as he kissed the tip of Brendon's nose. He pulled out gently, but still Brendon winced. "Everything all right?"

Brendon nodded. "Yes, just a bit sore." He lowered his legs and let Spencer clean him up with a wet cloth. Then he rolled onto his stomach. His ass felt slightly swollen, but it was a good ache. When Spencer came back to bed after disposing of the cloth, he pulled Brendon half on top of him. Brendon put his head on Spencer's chest and sighed.

"Good night," Spencer said quietly.

Brendon mumbled his good night into Spencer's skin.

Tomorrow their new life would start. Brendon would help out in Gerard's shop, while Spencer was going to divide his time between Gerard and Bob. They were married now, a family of their own.

And everything, Brendon's last thought before he fell asleep was, just because he'd stumbled over some airship pirates in the middle of the forest.


End file.
